FUGUE
by Spense
Summary: TV Verse. A catastrophic watershed event in the lives of the Tracy family causes each to reexamine their relationship with the others, and how much they take for granted.
1. Part I Prelude to a Song

**FUGUE**

**A Thunderbirds story in five parts**

By Spense

**Disclaimer**: Don't own them, just borrowing, not making money . . . etc.

**Note: **Thanks to Boomercat for allowing me to bounce ideas off of her and for her beta work, and to Lynn for the fine editing job.

**SUMMARY: **TV-Verse. A catastrophic watershed event in the lives of the Tracyfamily causes each to re-examine their relationship with the others, and how much they take for granted. (Please see authors note at the end of this piece for some necessary explanations.)

Fugue:

**1:** a dreamlike state of altered consciousness that may last for hours or days **2:** a musical form consisting of a theme repeated a fifth above or a fourth below its first statement

_Music._ An imitative polyphonic composition in which a theme or themes are stated successively in all of the voices of the contrapuntal structure.

In music, a fugue is a type of piece written in counterpoint for several independent musical voices. A fugue begins with its subject (a brief musical theme) stated by one of the voices playing alone. A second voice then enters and plays the subject, while the first voice continues on with a contrapuntal accompaniment. Then the remaining voices similarly enter one by one. The remainder of the fugue further develops the material using all of the voices. (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

**PART ONE**

**PRELUDE TO A SONG**

**_INTRO (Present Time)_**

Alan Tracy drove. He drove hard. He took the 8 out of San Diego, hit the open stretches of unrelieved desert and stepped onto the accelerator. The highly-tuned sports car answered his call, jumping forward at still greater speeds. Alan drove right on the edge of control. Or, as his oldest brother would say, just like normal.

Only now, Alan drove as though the demons of hell were on his heels. And in a sense they were. Everything in his life had completely fallen apart. This year had been both wonderful and horrible. The best had happened – he and TinTin had finally been married. They had finally done it, with the total blessing of his own family and Kyrano both, and lots of 'you waited long enough' type comments.

However, their happiness was marred by ongoing and escalating rows with his father. They had begun long before he and TinTin had married. Oh, it had all started innocently enough when he had returned from NASA to join International Rescue, already in operation, but had grown in strength and frequency since then. It was inevitable, he supposed, that it would happen.

Alan had figured that when he came home from NASA, he would be treated like an adult, like his brothers. Unfortunately, it was apparent almost immediately to Alan that once the baby of the family, always the baby. But Alan wasn't content with that. He never had been. And now he began to fight to recognized as an individual in the family in his own right. Not just the baby of the family, the impetuous one, the irresponsible one. He knew for a fact that he was more volatile than his brothers. So it was inevitable that the results would be somewhat explosive.

He knew his family loved him. He'd never doubted that. But he wanted them to respect him as well. And he was at a complete loss on how to earn that. He just couldn't seem to do anything right, just couldn't compete. All the character traits that were seen as wonderful in his older brothers seemed to be cause for censure in him. Scott's decisiveness was seen as being opinionated when applied to him. When he was quiet, like John, it was perceived as sulking. He just couldn't win, and he just didn't know what to do anymore. TinTin was his ally in this war of wills. She loved his family as much as he did – they were hers as well. But she'd understood his frustration when nobody else could – or would. She had told him that she would back him in whatever he chose to do.

Alan accelerated into a corner on the deserted highway at an alarming rate. Down shifting at the last minute, the car clung to the corner, then rocketed away as he redlined it out of the curve.

Rockets. Alan never wanted to see one again. Nothing he had ever done in this family was enough. He was an astronaut. But John was better. He was second to fly Thunderbird One. But Scott was better. Gordon could swim better than Alan. Virgil was more gifted musically. Alan had finished college in three years, with honors (and a great deal of partying). It didn't matter. Scott, Virgil and John had been just as good, or even better. The list went on and on. Alan was good at car racing – but that was only a hobby. They were proud of him, but it wasn't nearly as important as astronomy or flying or even swimming. But Alan did have one thing that had been on his side. TinTin. Her love was a gift that he'd thought was too good to be true. And he'd been right.

Alan's cell phone, sitting on the seat next to him, rang again. It was the eighth call in less than an hour. A quick glance at the readout showed it was Gordon this time. Normally Alan would be glad to talk to Gordon, even when he was furious at everybody else in the family. Gordon understood. But now, Alan had had enough of anybody with the last name of Tracy.

Grabbing the phone without so much as glancing at it again, he unceremoniously chucked it out the open sunroof. Given the fact that he was traveling at about 110mph, and the phone landed on the shoulder of an isolated highway in the middle of the desert, pretty much guaranteed that it would never be used again. Alan just stomped on the gas, causing the car to leap forward at yet higher speeds, leaving the broken phone behind.

Alan ground his teeth, and got the car under control again as it teetered on the edge of coming apart. This wasn't the way. Suicide by car wasn't an option. TinTin would never forgive him. So he tunneled his anger and rage into the one channel that was right and good. His father and International Rescue. He never wanted to hear those words again. In his opinion, Jefferson Tracy and International Rescue were at the root of all his problems at the moment.

Alan Tracy, age twenty three, had just lost everything. His wife was dead, together with their unborn child.

**_SINGLE VOICE, FIRST STATEMENT (48 hours previous)_**

Alan Tracy guided Thunderbird Three out of the orbit of International Rescues' orbiting space station, Thunderbird Five. He was furious already. He and John hadn't seen each other for more than fifteen minutes, and John was already lecturing him on not upsetting their father, how he really needed to stop 'rocking the family boat', and how he needed to just grow up and be part of the team. Alan had taken it for about five minutes then told John to butt out. John had not taken it well. Five more minutes of arguing, and Alan had walked down the airlock, leaving John sputtering in his wake. He'd had enough.

As soon as Alan had completed the release maneuvers and was headed home with the course locked in, he contacted base. To his relief, TinTin answered. He found himself grinning.

"Hey love."

"Hello Alan," she answered with the smile that was for him alone. After a second, it faltered. "What is wrong?"

He shook his head. "How do you always know?"

"I am your wife, Alan. Now, what is wrong?"

He looked at her again in the monitor, awed once more that she had agreed to be his wife. His best friend. Now his forever. He sighed. "John started in on me again."

TinTin sighed in turn. "And what did you do?"

Alan grinned in spite of himself. "What do you think? I walked out on him."

"Of course you did. Well, that is better than fighting with him as you used too."

"I'm working at it." His grin faded. "I don't know what to do anymore, TinTin." He paused a moment, suddenly realizing that there were ears everywhere.

Once more, she read his mind. "Nobody else is here, Alan. You know that."

Alan's brain slipped back into gear. She was right. The rescue call had come in an hour ago, while John was already en-route up to Five. It was a bad one. A massive earthquake and resulting fire in Japan. International Rescue had specifically gone to aid a large hospital, severely damaged in the shaking. Even Jeff had gone on this one, and he almost never went on rescue calls. Alan could count on one hand the number of calls he remembered his father flying out on. So with Scott and Jeff in Thunderbird One, and Virgil, Gordon and Brains in Thunderbird Two, they were more than fully manned. They would coordinate from Mobile Control, using TinTin as necessary at the base, and John in Five until Alan returned to take over base control.

Grandma had gone to visit some friends earlier in the week. She wouldn't be back for a couple of weeks. Kyrano had been dropped off in Sydney the day before to shop for supplies. He would either call for pickup, or charter a flight. "Sorry. I forgot. So it's just you. How is the rescue going?"

TinTin pursed her lips. "The situation is very bad from the sounds of it."

Alan grimaced. Well, there wasn't anything he could do. He returned to their initial subject.

"All John wanted to do was berate me for upsetting Dad. That I needed to think of the family as a whole, and not be so selfish. That I needed to stop whining about what I wanted, blah, blah, blah." Alan huffed in frustration.

TinTin looked at him sympathetically. "Alan, we can go now. We do not have to wait. I've told you this. We have made the decision – there is no reason to wait."

"Of course there is reason, TinTin. You're pregnant, and you know as well as I do how dicey it is right now. I want you around lots of people until you've carried to term. If we leave now, I'm going to be gone as much as when I'm on rotation on TB Five, but there won't be anybody else around. You know that."

It was an old argument. They'd covered so many sides of the question, that there really wasn't anything new to be gained. As the friction between Alan and his father mounted, both of the newlywed couple knew they needed to leave. And it wasn't just because of Alan's need to prove himself. It went far deeper than that. And it wasn't that Alan believed his father didn't love him. He knew better than that. Jefferson Tracy loved all of his sons deeply, and communicated that daily. But the problem went back farther than Alan or his brothers. It went clear back to the one person Jeff loved even more than any of them, and had never coped with losing. It went back to Lucille Tracy, Jeff's wife, who had died giving birth to Alan.

Alan had watched from as early as he could remember as each of his brothers in turn would spend his birthday with their father. Just the birthday boy and dad. Wonderful in a large family – the chance to get attention all to themselves. Alan could hardly wait until his birthday, just for that reason. And every year he was disappointed. They would spend the morning at the cemetery, then Jeff would disappear. Grandma always made sure he had a party with his brothers, and his father always appeared a day or so later with extravagant gifts, but it wasn't the same. Alan was probably about eight or so when he realized it would never change, and why. The realization had been brutal.

Alan knew better than to eavesdrop, but as with any child, the temptation was tremendous. Unfortunately, he heard a very specific conversation once that provided exactly the reason why his birthday was so different, and things had never been the same for him since. Jeff, Grandma, Scott and Virgil had been talking about Lucy. The anger directed towards the uselessness Lucy's death had told him forever where he stood in the family. That, and the fact that she had become pregnant by mistake had been alluded to. That told Alan precisely where he fit in – he was not a planned addition, as had his brothers, and then Lucy had died because of him. Nobody said it, but Alan could guess. He knew they loved him, but still, the knowledge explained an awful lot, including why his birthday was different. And because he knew better than to admit to eavesdropping, Alan never told anybody what he'd heard.

And no matter how various members of the family had tried to change this pattern over the years, nobody had ever had any great success. And now it was worse. Because right in front of Jeff Tracy's face was the overwhelming happiness of his youngest son and his new wife – as deeply felt as Jeff's own love for Lucille had been. And although Jeff was truly delighted for Alan, he wasn't able to cope with that deep love on display, reminding him daily of his own loss. And since he had never really dealt with Lucy's sudden death, his manner of response was not what it should have been. Jeff had tried to hide it, but his feelings came out in displays of irritation around his youngest son. Of walking out of the room while Alan and TinTin were sitting together laughing intimately about something. Berating his son for his lack of responsibility now that he was a married man. And in any one of a hundred other small matters.

Alan was under no illusions. Had it been Scott, it may have been easier. Even any of his other brothers. But no. It was Alan who had married first. The son for whom his wife had given her life. And Jeff had never stopped missing her. Now, circumstances were conspiring against Jeff and his youngest son once more. And the friction between them, always there, usually just showing up as a slight edginess, was now causing a true rift. Adding Alan's desire to prove to his family and to himself that he was as good as they were, wasn't helping.

Therefore, Alan and TinTin had already made the decision to leave the island, and leave International Rescue. Alan was planning to return to the racing circuit. TinTin would find a job at wherever they had determined to be their home base. She would never have to work, but she made it clear that she wanted too. Alan wasn't going to fight her – she had as much right to choose her path as he did.

There would be a great deal of problems with the family, but they had made up their minds. They also believed firmly that it would probably save their relationship with the family in the long run. And that was important to them both, even as frustrated and irritated as Alan was now. He really didn't want to sever family ties permanently if he could help it.

Then TinTin found out she was pregnant. It was not planned, but they were both delighted. However, at the appointments with the doctor, they discovered that the pregnancy was not going well. It was going to be difficult for TinTin to carry to term. The doctor had counseled waiting three months before telling family. She may well not carry that long.

Together, they agreed, and also agreed to postpone their move until after TinTin had given birth. Things were too dicey to not be around people who cared about her right now.

TinTin smiled at Alan again in the monitor. She reached out and touched it. Alan touched her finger on his own monitor. "It is all right Alan. Let's talk when you return. It is our time now. And the decision must be ours alone."

"Have I told you I love you, Mrs. Tracy?"

"Not lately, but you can show me in an hour or so," she replied with her rippling laugh that delighted Alan every time he heard it.

"You're on."

"Well, I'll see you soon then. I must get ready." She smiled coquettishly at him, and Alan laughed as she blew a kiss at him and signed off. He was truly a lucky man.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

Alan fully expected her to be waiting at the silo for him, and was surprised when she wasn't. He then thought with a grin, that she may well have prepared a 'surprise' for him, so he headed at full speed to their rooms. She wasn't there either. He didn't bother with the wrist-comm. She hated them and refused to wear one. She always stated she was just on the island anyway. So Alan searched.

In the lounge he found signs of her presence on the desk. The resignation letter to IR that he had half completed was sitting on the desk with her notations all over it. They wanted it to be perfect – not accusing, not argumentative, but professional. TinTin had laughed and told him to write it, so it would be his words, but she was going to edit, just to make sure he didn't offend absolutely everybody. The letter was there, but no TinTin.

Beginning to panic, Alan made his way through the villa, shouting. Getting more anxious by the minute, he sprinted back through the lounge and out onto the balcony. From there he could see the patio and the winding outside staircase. His worst fears were confirmed when he found her at the bottom of the cement staircase, bleeding from her ears, nose and mouth.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

Alan sat in the waiting room in the hospital in Sydney, his head in his hands, frozen in shock. He felt as though he were not present in spirit, just in body. The nightmare had begun, and nothing was going right. After ascertaining that TinTin was alive, Alan didn't move her, but instead activated his wrist communicator.

"Dad!"

There was no answer.

"DAD!"

Alan was beginning to panic.

"Dad! Are you there?"

Jeff's face appeared in the communicator, tired, streaked with soot, and disheveled. The picture bounced and jumped as though the link was bad.

"Yes, Alan." Jeff Tracy's voice was as tired as he looked. He looked at the blurring picture of his youngest son with chagrin. John had already complained about Alan's behavior on Five when Jeff had called him for an update. Jeff had cut him off. He didn't have time to try to settle kindergarten disputes between his adult sons. He hadn't had time to get into it with John earlier, and hewouldn't go into it nowwith Alan either. There would be time later. And he'd have a few choice words for both of them.

"Dad, it's . . "

Before Alan could finish his sentence, Jeff cut him off with a hand. "Hang on." Looking to something Alan couldn't see, Jeff said something, the small image blinking in and out, then looked back at Alan. "I have to go Alan, we're in the middle of a bad situation here. Whatever it is, deal with it."

"NO! Dad, it's . . ."

"Alan! I have to go. Deal with it. I'll get back to you as soon as I can." And his picture cut off.

Alan stared in disbelief for a moment, then TinTin's groan brought him back to reality. Reassuring his unconscious wife, Alan tore back up the stairs to the office and scrambled for the radio link, not even noticing the bloody handprints he was leaving in his wake. Contacting the Sydney hospital via the computer communications link, he informed them of the situation as quickly as he could, and told them he was coming via helijet.

Collecting his unconscious wife, he was en route to Sydney as fast as he could go, trying to get in touch with Kyrano via cell phone as he flew.

**_COUNTER-SUBJECT, MULTIPLE VOICES_**

"Where the hell is everybody?" Scott said in chagrin as the team from International Rescue walked slowly down the hall of the empty villa towards the lounge.

Nobody answered him. They were too tired, or too angry, or too much of both.

Everything had fallen apart. The rescue had been hell. The body toll was more than any of them wanted to think about. Scott, Virgil and Gordon were all treading carefully around Jeff. For one thing, he was furious with John and Alan for bringing a squabble into a rescue. Secondly, both Virgil and Gordon had taken far greater chances during the course of the rescue than he was happy with, and both of them had disobeyed both his and Scott's direct orders in order to do so. Then, neither Alan nor TinTin had been answering the radio. Well, they knew where they were! Where they always were when Alan returned from his time on Five. And Jeff was not happy.

Thunderbird One had stayed behind to mop up after Thunderbird Two had left. So, ultimately, both machines had returned at very close to the same time. Jeff had snapped, 'Debrief NOW!', and nobody dared disobey.

Jeff's breath caught as he looked at the disarray of the lounge. Papers were everywhere on the floor, and chairs were knocked over.

Gordon laughed out loud at the thought of his youngest brother and his wife, getting it on right there after a four week absence. Nothing else could cause this much destruction except Alan.

Anybody else's comments were cut short by Jeff's gasp and suddenly paling face as he looked at his desk. Always attuned to their father, Jeff's sons gathered around the desk, paling as they saw the bloody handprints on the papers and the computerized radio link.

"Oh, my . . . " a voice breathed. It could have been anyone of them uttering the horror they all felt at the sight.

Brains dove for the radio link, and brought up the history. "Alan Tracy calling Sydney Hospital Trauma Unit. And . . . uh, one message from, uh, Kyrano."

The fact that Alan had made a call to an emergency trauma center was bad enough, but it was the message from Kyrano that sent all of them scrambling to change and take off again – this time as the Tracy family, not International Rescue.

**_COUNTERPOINT, SECOND STATMENT_**

As the Tracy's were nearing Sydney, Jeff still had not been able to get hold of Alan, but he had been able to contact Kyrano. After listening for a few minutes, Jeff had asked if she was okay, then listened. He then asked about Alan, and was silent, listening some more. Finally he just said that they would be there in twenty minutes and hung up.

Scott, looking over from the controls of the jet, and seeing the frozen look on his father's face, just asked, "What?"

"TinTin fell down the outside stairs. She hit her head, hard, on the patio. She also began to hemorrhage internally." Jeff paused into the frozen silence and swallowed hard.

"Oh, no," Gordon breathed.

"But she'll be all right," Virgil asked into the silence. "Won't she?"

Jeff stared at the skyline from the front of the windscreen.

"Dad?" Scott asked in trepidation.

"TinTin died ninety eight minutes ago. Along with her unborn child."

**_ANSWER TO ORIGINAL STATEMENT_**

"Mr. Tracy?" A voice asked as Jeff descended from the jet.

"Yes, I'm Jeff Tracy. Where is my son?"

"This way." An older man in a white lab coat led the way from the landing pad on the roof through a maze of corridors. "I'm Dr. Maylor, Mrs. Tracy's obstetrician. I believe you are now aware of her pregnancy?"

"Yes," Jeff said shortly. "We hadn't been told until now, however."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. That was on my recommendation. The pregnancy was not going very well, and there was a very good chance that she would abort before three months."

Jeff's lips tightened. He was going to have words with both this doctor and his son about that. They had no right to do that. This child would have meant everything to the family, and they could have helped. But later, not now. Alan needed to come first right now.

Scott, Virgil and Gordon were crowded on their heels, listening closely, hanging on every word during their quick passage through the hospital maze.

"Is that what happened?" Jeff asked pointedly.

Dr. Maylor shook his head. "We really don't know if the fall down the stairs was caused by the baby aborting, or the other way around. We'll probably never know." He paused.

"But . . ." Jeff prodded mercilessly.

"But, it was a combination of the head injury and the blood loss that caused her death."

"We'd been in contact with her less than an hour before . . ." Jeff said unbelievingly.

"Yes, I'm aware of that. I'm very sorry." Dr. Maylor slowed as they entered a set of double doors to a quiet wing.

Jeff recognized the area instantly. He'd been someplace similar when his own wife had died. His stomach constricted. Dear lord, Alan was even younger than he had been. Jeff's step faltered for a moment.

"Dad, are you okay?" Scott, always intuitive, grabbed his father's shoulder and whispered in concern.

Jeff patted his hand, and nodded, gently disengaging himself.

"Your son and Mr. Kyrano are in here," Dr. Maylor nodded towards a closed door. "I'll leave you with them. There is a panic button to the right of the door if you need assistance."

"Thank you," Virgil said, acknowledging the doctor as Jeff's attention was already directed to the door.

Opening it quietly, they saw the scene before the occupants were aware of them. Alan sat slumped, his hands clasped on his knees, listening to an unfamiliar man with a clip board in front of him. Every once and awhile Alan would nod in response to something the man said, and say something quietly. He'd look at Kyrano for a response, and the normally enigmatic man would answer softly. Jeff had never seen Kyrano at such a loss before. The tear stains looked foreign on the usually self possessed gentleman.

The man with the clipboard looked up, noticing their arrival. He turned back to Alan, saying quietly, "Thank you, Mr. Tracy, Mr. Kyrano. I'll see that the arrangements are carried out."

Jeff's stomach did another roll as he realized that Alan and Kyrano had just finished making funeral arrangements for TinTin. He remembered the exact words being said to him. Only he'd taken home his newborn son. Alan would not be returning with his child.

The man gave the newcomers a tight nod as he passed by them, then left. Jeff moved into the room quickly, and knelt in front of his son. Scott, Virgil and Gordon moved in more slowly, shutting the door behind them. Virgil sat next to Kyrano, putting a sympathetic hand on the man's shoulder. TinTin's father looked up at the sensitive Tracy son, and gave him a watery smile, then turned to bury his hands in his face.

Jeff was more worried than he'd been in a long time. Alan seemed like he was frozen. All Jeff could see was the top of his son's bowed head. This was not good. He'd feel better if Alan had been tearing the room apart, as was more in keeping with his character.

"Alan," Jeff said softly.

There was no response.

Jeff put his hands on top of Alan's clasped fingers. His son's hands were held together so tightly that they were white. "Alan," he tried again. "Son, I'm here."

There was still no response. Jeff could see the taunt muscles in Alan's shoulders, quivering with the grief and tension. Jeff understood. Probably one of the few people in the room who could. Alan had just lost his best friend since childhood. His wife. His lifelong partner, whom he had loved with a strong, deep dedication. Jeff understood it. He'd loved Lucy that way. But Alan had also lost his first child. Jeff hoped he never have to see that. To lose a child was unthinkable.

"Son, I understand." Jeff's voice was soft, compassionate.

Alan finally reacted. He lifted his tear stained face and stared back into his father's eyes. Jeff saw the rage he expected. That was how this son would react. He would be angry – he would throw things, he would destroy furniture. But that was expected. That was okay, it was a healthy outlet. They had to get him back to the island and let him explode.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Alan's voice was quiet.

"Alan, I do. I lost my wife too." Jeff said softly. He wasn't going to let Alan goad him into fighting back. Alan didn't need that now.

"Yes, you lost your wife. Now I've lost mine. But I've lost TinTin because we couldn't put her first before International Rescue," Alan hissed at his father, his face white with fury, his eyes a stormy blue.

Jeff was caught off-guard. "What did you say?" He whispered in disbelief.

"You told me, I believe the expression was, 'to deal with it'. Well, I've been dealing with it all my life." Alan began, his anger growing.

Jeff suddenly realized what he was talking about. That the contact Alan had made to him in the middle of the rescue had been regarding the accident with TinTin. And that he had cut him off, thinking it was IR, or a squabble with John. Jeff blanched.

"Alan, I didn't know, I didn't understand . . ." Jeff began.

"No, of course you didn't. You never do. You always cut me off before I say what I'm thinking, certain that you already know what I'm thinking, what I'm going to say. But YOU NEVER DO! You never have. You've never allowed me to express an opinion that I haven't had to fight to say." Alan wrenched himself loose of his father's hold and shot to his feet. The anger fueled his energy, and he channeled his grief into rage, allowing him to say what he'd never before dared to. He had absolutely nothing to lose now.

"You've never once really listened to me. I've always been the son who was born by mistake. The one that killed your wife. Your fourth spare after your perfect heir." Alan gave a mirthless laugh as unseen behind him, Scott winced. "The one that could never do anything that hadn't already been done before. The one that was always in reserve. The replacement for TB Five for John could come home sometimes. The relief for TB One. Always the relief. Never myself."

Scott, Virgil and Gordon were staring open mouthed at their younger brother. Alan had always been hot tempered, but never insecure. At least that they had been aware of.

"That's not true!" Jeff began, eyes smoldering.

"Oh, yes it is! Don't lie to me! Not again. Not now. Not ever again." Alan's grief gave fuse to the year and a half of frustration that had built since he had returned home from NASA and joined International Rescue. Voice to a lifetime of feeling inferior to his brothers and his father. Outlet to the fact that the one person who was helping him become his own person was now gone. He was done taking this from his father. Or anybody else.

"All of my life I watched my family grieve for a woman I never knew."

"Alan," Jeff was quiet again, trying to regain control of the situation. "You grieved too."

Alan shook his head abruptly at that assumption. One more of far too many. "No, I didn't. How could I? I never knew her," Alan said bitterly. "There were never any pictures around, or anybody to tell me about her, or who she was. All I knew was that my birthday has been spent watching this family mourn a woman I never knew. Watching while my brothers celebrated their birthdays year after year with a day out with Dad. Just the two of them. Going to whatever they wished. But not me. Usually a family party after the fact, something as an afterthought. But nobody ever seemed to notice or care that I always spent my actual birthday at a cemetery, forgotten most of the time because I was a mistake, and not nearly important as a woman who was DEAD!"

Jeff couldn't help himself. He struck Alan across the face before he even realized what he was doing.

Alan's eyes narrowed into slits of fury, one hand to the side of his reddening cheek. He shrugged off Virgil's hands as his brother tried to separate him from his father, not even aware of Scott trying to do the same thing with Jeff. "I never knew my mother. I've heard nothing about her except how wonderful she was, when anybody would ever even speak of her at all. How talented she was. How much everybody misses her. And every comment twists the knife because all I hear about me is how I should have studied like Scott, that it was too bad I wasn't the musician Virgil was, what a swimmer Gordon was, and pity from the coaches because I wasn't as good. And that how bad it was that NASA lost John, I should be proud that I'm 'nearly' as good as he is."

"I'm tired Father. I'm tired of trying to prove myself to you. Of keeping my happiness with my marriage under wraps because it might upset you since you haven't gotten over your wife. Well Father, she's been dead over 23 years! And I've been here all that time. Not that it ever really mattered."

Jeff was in shock, watching his son saying things that he'd obviously been feeling for years, but never sharing. He'd never guessed. Nor it seemed, had his other sons. This was the son who wore his emotions out for all to see – anger, joy, frustration, happiness – all on his face. But apparently, not all. Jeff had had no idea of the depth of anger and hurt his youngest child had held. They were all rooted to the ground as Alan continued, pointing at his father's chest to emphasis his point.

"I've always been the one with the temper. Well, maybe you should wonder why. I'm done with this family. I'm done with International Rescue. I'm not good enough to be first string at anything. But I'd like to believe I could be. And TinTin did believe I could be. She was the first person who ever believed in me, encouraged me, and told me I could reach for whatever star I wanted."

Alan calmed abruptly, grief hitting him heavily again. He turned away, but still spoke clearly. "We'd already decided to leave. We wanted a life of our own. Not as appendages to the great Tracy family, spares for International Rescue." He paused. The silence was almost a living thing.

Then, he closed his eyes and continued. "And I still can see no reason to stay. Especially now. None at all. I really don't want to hear how thoughtless I am, how irresponsible I am, how I should be like my brothers. I've tried that. And it hasn't been good enough for anybody, least of all me. My best friend died today, but I'm not going to let our dreams die with her. I'm through here."

Alan stared his father directly in the eye in the middle of the silent hospital room. "You can cut me off financially. That's fine. You can freeze my trust fund. I don't care. What you don't realize is that a second stringer in the Tracy family is still more than enough to get by just fine in the world." Alan looked around the room at his shocked and silent brothers and father. "I don't want to see any of you again. You've taken everything from me. The years that I spent wondering what was wrong with me, and now the one person I loved the most. I will miss her all my life." He turned back to Jeff. "But I refuse to do what you've done, and make my life a shrine to a dead woman, and shut out the living.

With that last statement, Alan turned on his heel and walked out of the room. That movement finally broke the trance the others were in as they listened to their supposedly impetuous and irresponsible family member express himself with an articulation and depth of thought and feeling that none had even realized he was capable of.

"Alan!" Gordon started to go after him, but Kyrano's hand on his shoulder stopped him. Gordon looked in amazement at the calm man's tear stained face.

"Let him go."

Gordon just stared, as did the rest of the Tracy family at the man who had been their retainer, friend, and confidant for so long. And he was also a grieving father who had just lost his only child.

"He is right. It is time for all of us to examine how we have viewed one another. I have listened to all of you over the many years. None of you, barring Gordon, have ever acted as though you liked your youngest brother. You loved him, that was clear. But liked him? And if that is true, why was the depth of love there? Certainly, you would not love without reason. Maybe it is time to find that reason. And when you find it, maybe he will too."

**Authors Note**: I hate canon character deaths. I hate them just as much as I hate author's notes. A story should stand without the author intrusion. But here I am doing both. :sigh: I never in a million years thought I'd write a character death story. But this story isn't about TinTin or her death. That's just a means to an end. The story is about Alan and his family. That said, this particular story came from two specific places, and it is important to give credit to both.

**1)** While in Reno last year, the group of us who went – Boomercat, Rlynch, Lynn and myself (henceforth known as _3 Wrinkles and a Crease_), had many discussions regarding the Thunderbirds. One of which centered around liking or disliking Alan. Boomercat made a comment that there had to be a reason his brothers were so close to him and so protective of him. Brother or no, if they didn't LIKE him, they'd stay away from him. This got me thinking, and this story is the result.

**2)** The above conversation led me right to a story by MCJ, called '_Commitment_'. This is a strongly written tale about Alan finally growing up that really stuck a chord (pardon the pun) with me. In her story, there is a section where Alan is faced with the possibility of TinTin and their child dying. He comments that if TinTin dies, he will leave Tracy Island and International Rescue. I had always wondered 'what if'? So, I have asked for (and received) MCJ's permission to use this premise. I've changed the events leading up the event significantly – in fact they bear no resemblance to MCJ's story. But it is close enough that if you have read the story, you will recognize the similarities instantly. Therefore credit needs to be given where credit is due, as I am building on her creative work. After Part I, the story goes off on its own tangent, but I must thank MCJ for allowing me to build on her base.

Thus, these two pieces build to form the whole. In addition, I must credit the Tracy Island Writers Forum group. The discussion of how Alan would have been viewed had he been the oldest, and that the character traits that are negative in the youngest would probably be seen as positive were he the eldest. This discussion took a major role in the evolution of this already in process story. I can't remember names and exact comments, but you know who you are. :Grins: Enough from the author. Enjoy the story.


	2. Part II A Theme in Many Voices

**FUGUE**

**A Thunderbirds story in five parts**

By Spense

**Disclaimer**: Don't own them, just borrowing, not making money . . . etc.

Fugue:

**1:** a dreamlike state of altered consciousness that may last for hours or days **2:** a musical form consisting of a theme repeated a fifth above or a fourth below its first statement

_Music._ An imitative polyphonic composition in which a theme or themes are stated successively in all of the voices of the contrapuntal structure.

In music, a fugue is a type of piece written in counterpoint for several independent musical voices. A fugue begins with its subject (a brief musical theme) stated by one of the voices playing alone. A second voice then enters and plays the subject, while the first voice continues on with a contrapuntal accompaniment. Then the remaining voices similarly enter one by one. The remainder of the fugue further develops the material using all of the voices. (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

**PART TWO **

**A THEME IN MANY VOICES **

**CODETTA (present time) **

Alan's chartered jet landed in San Diego in the late afternoon. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically, even though he'd slept the whole way from Sydney to San Diego, not even waking for a refueling stop in Hawaii. Sleep was more acceptable than anything else. If he was awake, he was going to have to deal with the fact that he was alone. For the first time in his life. No brothers and no father running interference..

But worst of all, no TinTin. His wife. At twenty-three, Alan Tracy was a widower. Alan swallowed hard at that thought, and lost himself in clearing customs.

Completely unaware of anything and wrapped in his own grief, Alan headed for the Tracy hanger located at the airport. There, he uncovered the sports car he kept here. Adding to the trunk the duffel bag of clothes he kept at the hanger, he was soon underway, never looking back, and never intending to return. He followed I-8 out of San Diego and out onto the desolate stretches, where he pushed the high performance car right to the edge of control and lost himself in driving.

Over the next couple of days, Alan followed a pattern. He drove until he was utterly exhausted. Then he checked into the first motel he could find, and slept as long as he could. Then he would be up – sometimes at three in the morning, sometimes as late as one in the afternoon, and would repeat the pattern.

It wasn't until he had gone through Arizona, merging on Interstate 10, and through New Mexico, ending up on the 70 to Amarillo, that Alan realized he was heading to Kansas. He decided that he really didn't have anywhere else to be, so that was fine. From Amarillo, he followed I-60 to I-281, turning north, up into Kansas, concentrating on the mechanics of driving, and trying not to think.

**_TB TB TB TB TB_**

Alan drove slowly past the farm his grandparents had once owned. The house was still well kept, and the farm was still a working farm. Even during the bleak month of February, work was still going on. Alan could see a man out by the back shed, working on a tractor. Behind him, the old weathered barn was a massive building, showing the scars of years, but still standing strong.

In front, the farm house where Alan's father had grown up stood neat and firm, rooted deeply by its cement foundation, barely visible behind the well rooted shrubbery in front. The house looked well cared for, and strong enough to weather even the strongest storm.

Alan pulled over and looked at the farm for a few moments. He had vague memories of driving by the place when he was small. But his grandfather had died before he was born, and his grandmother had moved in with them after his birth. So he'd never really seen the farm before.

Alan pulled back onto the highway, and picked up speed, heading back towards the Interstate from the rural route. As he headed northeast, he was thoughtful. It was beginning to occur to him about how little he knew about his own family. His three older brothers had all talked about playing on the Kansas farm. They'd lived in Kansas until just before Gordon was born, then they'd relocated to upstate New York.

As he drove through the countryside, just beginning to show signs of Spring and new growth, he also realized how little he knew about his mother's family as well. Honestly, he knew nothing at all except that her parents had also died soon after he was born. All he knew was the 'hero' side of the family – Jefferson Tracy. Well, maybe it was time to change that. To find out about the past generations. Maybe that would help ease the gulf in his soul right now.

The thought of his loss, and the very real hole in his life that it represented brought a fresh wave of pain. TinTin would not have appreciated his aimlessness. It was time to make some plans.

**COUNTERSUBJECT, SECOND VOICE IN MINOR**

Jeff Tracy sat at his desk fingering the envelope. A package had arrived that morning from the New York headquarters. In it was an overnight express package address to Jeff and marked personal. It was sent from Kansas to the New York office, to be forwarded to Tracy Island. After seeing the sender's name his assistant had forwarded it immediately. It was from Alan. There had been a sealed enveloped inside for Josie, one for Kyrano, and a slightly larger, bulkier package for Jeff.

Turning to the window, Jeff looked out on the peaceful island paradise. He could see Gordon swimming endless laps in the large pool. Gordon's thinking time. Scott and Virgil were playing tennis against John and Brains. Brains was a surprisingly good tennis player, for all his lab work. Not in the other boys league certainly, but he could hold his own. All four were obviously trying not to have to think about past events. It was proving difficult.

Jeff had had Thunderbird Five up on auto so John could come down in order to attend TinTin's funeral. Alan had not told them when or where the services were to be held – Kyrano had. Jeff was certain that Alan didn't want them there, but was also just as certain that his youngest son wouldn't make a scene as long as they respected his space. Which Jeff intended to do. There would be no scenes.

Jeff turned back to his desk and studied his son's familiar handwriting on the front of the envelope. How had it come to this? Had he really been all that insensitive – all that domineering? Jeff looked back over the years and was appalled at his behavior. How could he have never seen, never guessed what his youngest son was feeling? Could he really have been that unfeeling?

He'd talked to his mother about it when he'd picked her up. She'd cut her visit short and came home, as shocked as the rest of the island residents at what had happened. She'd pointed out that Alan was right, and he did have a point. She'd suspected his feelings for many years, and although the youngest Tracy had confided to Josie most things, he'd never touched on the one thing that apparently bothered him most. Yet, as always, fault usually lay equally among all the participants.

Jeff sighed as he remembered Alan as a little boy, seemingly so well adjusted. Of course he was well adjusted, after all, Jeff might not have been around a lot being busy with a growing company, but Alan had four older brothers, and a grandmother who doted on him. But he was heartsick as he remembered the small blond child following him around, obviously idolizing his father. Asking what they were going to do for his birthday. Such an innocent question, and Jeff having no inkling of the desperation behind it. He'd just taken it at face value, explaining to Alan that there were things they had to do on his birthday, and that they would celebrate later.

But later Jeff would be unable to function, unable to celebrate the day of Alan's birth with him, because he was so caught up in the huge gulf of his loss. For several years he'd tried to make up for it with extravagant gifts, far more than the other boys received, and knew his mother produced a family party. But Jeff couldn't cope. Just couldn't join in, too focused on his loss. He'd had no idea how little the gifts had meant. That over the years it would be the lack of his presence that Alan would remember most.

Alan's words were burned into Jeff's mind. "I mattered less than someone who was dead." He didn't know if that, or the fact that Alan didn't share his grief about Lucy's death bothered him more. Jeff felt shamed that in his preoccupation with his loss, he had kept Alan from ever knowing who Lucy was. It saddened him to no end to realize what a complete stranger she was to their youngest son. She would never have forgiven him for that.

Jeff should have seen it. That's what bothered him the most. In hindsight, it was so clear. He should have seen it in a hundred small things, as his youngest son grew older. Alan's hold on his temper decreased with age, as his tendency to pout increased. At the time, Jeff had just put it down to Alan's personality. He was just more volatile than his brothers; he was the youngest, therefore somewhat indulged. And, indeed, there was definite truth to both of those perceptions. But what was probably just as true was that his volatility was as much Alan's reaction to his life and the expectations placed on him as much as it was his natural temperament.

Jeff could remember Alan's birthdays well during his late elementary school years. Alan would throw tantrums on a spectacular scale, refusing to go to the cemetery, and hiding until the family had left. He would anger Jeff with his behavior to the point that Alan would end up being punished in one form or another. More often than not, Alan ended grounded on his own birthday. How could he have missed the root problem?

That was when Alan's habitual defiance really started, Jeff mused. Alan was never truly awful, just a handful. High spirited, his teachers had said. Just needs a firm hand. Now, after hearing what Alan had said, Jeff wondered again just how he'd missed the real issue. It was so clear! But he'd just dealt with the symptoms, figuring 'boys will be boys'. He never saw the real problem because he just wasn't home enough because he was working, or busy, or occupied elsewhere.

And to be brutally honest, he was tired. He'd been though all of it four times before. So he treated Alan just like his brothers, not seeing him as an individual, forgetting that with Scott, it had all been so new that he'd allowed his child to choose his own directions, and delighted in his ability to become his own person. Jeff was just astounded at his own conceit. It was amazing that Alan had grown up so stable at all, really, as he looked back on it.

By junior high, Alan was no longer following him around, or trying to get his attention. He frustrated Jeff because he wouldn't work up to his full potential (which was considerable) or focus, as his brothers did. There was so much there! It infuriated Jeff to no end – it was like Alan just didn't care. Jeff kept holding up his brothers as examples. Now, of course, looking at that time from a new perspective, Jeff could see that all he had been doing was compounding the real problem.

Alan had just given up. He had obviously seen no reason to try anymore. He would work hard enough to keep his parent and older brothers off of his back, but that was about it. And it broke Jeff's heart. What he wouldn't give to be able to start over.

Alan's statement about Jeff never letting him speak his mind, and always interrupting him before he made his point cut to the quick. It was so true, as he looked at it. Alan was right. He'd had to fight to be heard, and even when they all listened, nobody took him seriously – after all, there were far more experienced opinions to be considered. No wonder Alan always had such an edge to him, such a chip on his shoulder that his other sons didn't have. And no wonder Alan had never talked to him or anybody else about any of this. Nobody listened. Not that they intentionally ignored him. They were just, well, busy.

Jeff thought about Alan's relationship with Gordon. He wondered if Alan had ever spoken to him about his feelings, then decided that no, he probably hadn't. He wouldn't have needed to. Gordon would be happy with however Alan was, and not feel any need to change him.

But there was one person who truly listened to him, and wanted to help him be who he was – TinTin. And now she was gone, and Alan was alone because he refused to stay and be dismissed anymore. Alan was right, and Jeff knew he had a great deal to answer for.

With a heavy sigh, he broke the seal on the envelope in his hands. Out fell Alan's wrist-comm. And with it, a letter. A business-like letter detailing Alan's wishes regarding his belongings. An address to a storage facility in San Diego. Instructions on what to discard. And also included, a separate formal letter of resignation from International Rescue. Nothing else. No personal note, nothing.

Jeff buried his face in his hands and cried as he hadn't since Lucy had died.

**VARIATION ON A NEW THEME – UNKNOWN VOICE**

The groundskeeper at Covenant Lawns Memorial Park in New York stopped raking the dead leaves, and rested his crossed arms on his rake as the limousine pulled up. He'd watched this scene hundreds of times – people rich and poor, young and old, burying their dead. They all were alike at times like this. Death was the great equalizer.

He'd hear through the grape-vine that this was a private service for a young wife and her unborn child. The husband was only twenty-two. Sad really.

He watched as the Mercedes limousine drew to a halt on the road at the base of a small rise of land. The flower draped coffin was already in place under the pavilion, waiting to be lowered. The flowers stirred slightly in the cold, light wind, a spot of color against the winter bleak February landscape. The officiating pastor moved to greet the young blond man in the richly tailored black suit. An older, oriental gentleman stood next to the young man, the lines on his face etched far deeper with grief than with age.

The two followed the pastor up to the pavilion, and turned to face him as he began the service, the ends of his stole twisting slightly in the moving air. After a moment, the pastor stopped and gestured to another approaching limousine. The young man turned and looked at it blankly for a moment. The groundskeeper was interested. He was too far away to hear words, but the pantomime was clear.

The Asian man put a hand on the young man's shoulder and said something to him. The young man nodded and turned his back on the approaching car and faced the pastor once more. The older oriental man touched his shoulder once again, as if in comfort, and then said something to the pastor, who nodded. The young widower said nothing after that; he just stood with his head bowed.

The groundskeeper then turned his interested attention to the other approaching car. Another black Mercedes limousine, he noted, and it pulled up behind the first. These people had money, that was for certain. He was even more certain as he watched the occupants disembark. Five young men, all of different coloring, ranging from blond to dark. Oddly enough, one was wearing glasses with vivid blue frames, which looked incongruous amongst the rich black mourning suits each wore. The fit of the suits, and the neat cut again spoke of money. The young men all appeared trim and fit, handsome specimens, the gardener thought. For a moment, he was sorry his daughter hadn't come with him to help today. She would have certainly appreciated such fine young gentlemen.

An older, silver haired version of the young men then exited the car. He was as fit as the others. That also spoke to the groundskeeper of wealth. Those who didn't have to worry about bills could spend time on looks and fitness. But honestly, it didn't really matter in the end. Death was death, and it took you when it was your time, regardless.

The last person to emerge from the car was an elderly woman. She was courteously helped by two of the young men, hovering attentively over her. She smiled at them, and patted their hands in affection, then stood imperiously, looking around her. Her black suit and veiled hat gave her the appearance of a queen with her retainers. She put a hand on the silver haired man's arm, and spoke to him a moment. He spoke back, the lines of his body showing a reluctance that puzzled the groundskeeper. They had a brief conversation, then the man apparently capitulated, and the elderly woman left the group and made her way up the slight hill to the smaller group under the canopy.

The gardener's attention was then caught by a pink (pink!) Rolls Royce approaching the line of cars. The car pulled up, and a chauffer emerged and handed out a striking blond woman in a black couture suit, and veiled hat. The group still standing at the limousine turned to greet the newcomers. The woman kissed the silver haired man on the cheek; then they all ranged themselves beside the pink car in an informal row at the base of the hill, attentive, yet removed from the service.

The widower had not turned around to see the newcomers, and started visibly when the elderly woman placed a hand on his arm. He turned to her, listened as she spoke briefly, then hugged her, desperation apparent in every line of his body. She held him for a long moment. As they separated, she indicated to the group at the base of the hill. He looked impassively at them for a moment, then turned back to the service, taking hold of the woman's hand in a motion that looked as though he were taking hold of a lifeline.

And that was the manner in which the graveside service was performed. The small group of three under the pavilion with the pastor and the casket at the top of the hill, and the rest at the bottom of the rise, apart, almost an honor guard.

Then it was over. The young man stared at the ground as the pastor placed a hand on his shoulder. They spoke a few words. The other man and the woman joined in. The young man's shoulders were tense as he took a single rose off the flower draped coffin. The others drew close to him, touching him briefly. The gestures were loving towards the young man, although they were obviously as grief stricken as he was. Then the young man was leaving alone, heading towards the first limousine in line without so much as a glance at the group beside the Rolls Royce. Only when he was in the car, and the limousine was driving away did the group below move up to pay their respects.

Interesting, the gardener mused. Most interesting. Truly a story there. But one he would never know. One of many dramas played out in this place.

Yet this scene stayed with him through the years, and he always took special care of the grave of the young woman, and the grave next to it as well, since she held the same surname. He always wondered about that scene, and the life of the young woman taken so early. Even her names were interesting: TinTin Kyrano Tracy. He often wondered about her, but he knew he'd never know. He was only a witness to the drama of one small piece of her family's life. TinTin Tracy, and the woman buried next to her, Lucille Evans Tracy.

**FIRST VOICE – TRANSITIONAL MOVEMENT**

The days following the funeral passed in a blur for Alan. And he was grateful – it kept him from having to think about his loss. He felt as though part of him was missing. He actually found himself feeling sorry for his father, if this was the kind of pain that he had lived with all of these years.

But then Alan would remember growing up with that kind of life given to the pain, and would find himself growing angry yet again. He refused to allow himself to become an emotional cripple about his late wife, and steeled his resolve. And he could feel TinTin's approval.

So instead, he made plans. He contacted his old mechanic, and good friend, Kenny Malone, who was ecstatic to have him back as a driver. In no time he was set up with Kenny's team under a national sponsor. Press releases were sent out advertising his return, and Alan once again joined the fray.

He made arrangements to leave the majority of his belongings in the storage facility in San Diego, where he had has father ship them from Tracy Island. He chose only selected items to take with him at the moment. He'd have the rest shipped when he was settled.

Alan timed his arrival at the track for immediately following his birthday in March. The four weeks gave him a chance to make his plans and wait until he was feeling mentally stable.

However, the anger at his family, specifically at his father still burned hot, especially on the morning of his twenty-third birthday. He got up early, and was at the cemetery by 7am. He had no desire to run into his family. He knew, with twenty-three years of experience, that they wouldn't be there until late morning.

Alan stood, as he had every birthday of his life, looking at his mother's grave. Only this time there were two. His mother on one side, and TinTin, his wife on the other. There was a certain symmetry to his actions, as Alan was here this year by choice – the first time in his life. This time there was no parental edict involved. He was here as much to make a statement to himself; to provide closure to the old, mark a turning point, and to begin his life anew. He was here for himself for a change, rather than out of respect for his father because he himself had felt nothing.

He laid a sheaf of red roses on TinTin's grave, and as he knelt, ran a hand over the engraving on the stone, his vision blurring. Red roses for love. "My beautiful wife," he murmured, then stood, looking at the grave. "I promise you TinTin, I'll carry out everything we talked about. I promise I won't be the emotional cripple my father was about Mom's death. I'll make the most of myself, because you were so clear that that was what you wanted." He paused for a moment, then whispered brokenly, "I miss you so much, baby. And . . . take care of our child."

He then turned to the grave of the woman he had never known, the woman who had given him life in error, then died at the moment of his birth. He laid a single yellow rose on the grave. Yellow for remembrance. His own pledge to himself. He'd learn about her so that he could remember her, mark a life given for his own.

Alan stepped back and looked at the graves for a moment more, cementing his resolve. Then, he turned and walked back to his already packed car, and a new beginning to his life.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

Later that day, the remaining Tracy's stood silently at the same grave sites, looking at the tangible signs of Alan's presence. "Be with him, Lucy," Jeff breathed. "Be with our son, now, while I can't."

**STRETTO – MULTIPLE VOICES**

Life continued on as usual on Tracy Island that spring and on into early summer. Rescue calls came in, John alternated months on Thunderbird Five with Virgil and Gordon. Scott snitched apple pie from Grandma, lightening the mood occasionally, and Gordon played pranks. Life was normal. But there was a large gap. Alan and TinTin were missed desperately, but quietly. Nobody needed to point out the obvious.

Jeff talked to Penny often, confiding his worries and fears for his youngest son, and his soul-deep regret about what had happened. Grandma and Kyrano were also sounding boards for the Tracy patriarch, as well as for his sons. The losses left no one untouched.

Watching car racing now was the favored pastime for most of the Tracy clan. And any race that Alan was participating in was sure to be on in the lounge, with all of the family present. And more often than not, somebody would quietly slide a disk into the recorder, in order to record not only the race, but more importantly, the after race interview with the winner, who was more often than not, Alan.

Alan was big news in the racing world. The talent that had been so promising prior to his early retirement from the circuit flourished, then took off. Alan was the toast of the racing circuit. He was constantly in magazines, on covers and in advertisements. The majority of these always found their way quietly into the Tracy family lounge, so that everybody could see the news.

This was the state of affairs one late evening, as Grandma found Gordon leaning on the railing watching the sunset. Josie came out to join him, enjoying the breeze. The clean up from the evening meal was taken care of, and the rest of the family was out and about on the island.

"My, doesn't that feel good," she commented in relief. "Today was hotter than normal."

Gordon smiled absently, and watched the horizon, clearly deep in thought.

"This must be something serious, young man. I expected you to be down with Scott and Virgil, looking at the new program Brains wants to put on Thunderbird Four. Are you going to let them add something to your submarine without even checking it over? That isn't like you," she said, cocking her head and looking at him.

Gordon laughed slightly. "They haven't put it in yet, and yes, I'll be down there doing it myself! Like I'd let Scott and Virgil anywhere near my lovely lady . . ."

Josie smiled. That was more like it. She remembered the race they'd watched that afternoon. Alan had won handily, but there had been a few close calls. Gordon had had a shuttered expression on his face. "Are you worried about Alan?" She asked softly.

Gordon took a deep breath, then exhaled heavily, eyes fixed on the horizon. "Worried? No, not really. Alan's clearly doing well. Just, oh, disappointed, I suppose. I always thought we were more than brothers, we were friends as well. And what he said in the hospital that day . . . well, it really hurt. I've been thinking about it a lot. He lumped me in with his feelings about Dad and the other guys. I always thought we were different."

"And you're angry with him," Josie summed up softly.

Gordon looked at her startled, then looked away, embarrassment flushing his face scarlet.

Josie put a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, sweetie. You have a right to be angry. And so does Alan."

Gordon ran a hand through his hair in distraction. "I know he does. He really has every right to be furious. I agree with everything he said. Dad and the guys are a really hard act to follow. If I didn't have my swimming, I know I'd have probably felt the same way. Or, maybe not." He gave a sudden grin. "I've always kind of moved to my own drummer."

"I'll say," Josie laughed. "You'd be fine in whatever pond you were dropped into."

Gordon continued, sobering. "I guess I just didn't expect to be included. He knows I like him. Man, he's my best friend, not just my brother. To be told that I don't act like I even 'like' my brother just frosts me. Then, to still not have heard from Alan at all . . ." Gordon broke off abruptly, as though he'd said to much, and turned his attention back to the darkening sky.

"That's the root of it, isn't it?" Josie responded gently. "You expected to hear from him by now, hadn't you?"

Gordon gave a grudging nod, then added almost inaudibly, "He didn't even look at me at the funeral."

It was Josie's turn to sigh. "Gordon, please believe me when I tell you that when Alan's ready, you will most likely be the first person he contacts."

Gordon cocked his head. She had his full attention. Josie was very wise when it came to her family, and they all knew it.

"Of course Alan lumped you in with everybody else. He had to make a clean break, and you've also been held up to him as a comparison. He never told you about the coaches in school who tried to make him your successor on the swim team?"

Gordon was dumbfounded. "No! Oh, he joked sometimes that they thought maybe he was a fish too, but then found out differently. But nothing more serious than that."

"It was much more serious than that Gordon. In his senior year in high school, the coaches made him so miserable that Jeff had to call the school and get them to back off. Alan wanted to concentrate on track, and that's what he did. But it took some tough Tracy talk to get them to allow that. They wanted another Gordon Tracy."

"Alan was fabulous in track," Gordon said, staring. "He was one of their top athletes his senior year."

"Yes, he was. He was very good, but not at the level you were at in your sport, and he was always being asked about his brother, the Olympic swimmer."

A flabbergasted Gordon just stared at Josie. She smiled back. "So you see, in some ways you are a part of the problem." She held up a hand, stopping him from speaking. "But you will also probably be the solution. Alan does not want to be you, and doesn't feel that pressure to become you, because you've always enjoyed him for who he is, and not tried to make him be 'like' somebody else. But he does desperately want to be like Scott and his father, but he is not them either. And he doesn't see that."

"And nor do they," Gordon murmured quietly, acknowledging the truth of that statement and beginning to see what she was driving at.

"Exactly. A lifetime of comparisons to 'be successful like Scott', or 'study like John', or 'be creative like Virgil' have taken their toll. I'm thinking that everybody is doing a lot of soul searching right now, and not just Alan. But when it comes time, Alan will contact you. And you just need to accept him and what he is doing, and don't try to talk him into anything. Be the friend you've always been. I have no doubt, you'll hear from him before any of the rest of us."

Gordon looked at her for a moment, then grinned and hugged her. "Thanks Grandma. I feel better," he said into her hair.

"Good," she laughed, patting his back. "Now why don't you come with me and we'll have some of that fresh apple pie before Scott gets it all."

Gordon laughed, and followed her into the lounge, feeling better about his younger brother and himself.

_**TB TB TB TB TB **_

Unbeknownst to Gordon, two other brothers became involved in a similar conversation later that night regarding the same subject.

Virgil had watched his older brother brood about the situation with Alan for some time. He decided that it was finally time to shake him loose. Scott had brooded long enough, in Virgil's opinion. He found his moody brother seated on the catwalk that circled Thunderbird Three's silo. He was pleased to note that the bottle of aged scotch was only down a couple of fingers. Good. Not drunk then, just maybe slightly buzzed.

"Aren't you a little off your beaten path? Thunderbird One's scaffolding is more your usual haunt. Took me awhile to find you."

Scott snorted appreciation, leaning back against the wall, this long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He gazed at the red machine, gleaming in the darkness. He took a sip for his glass leisurely, then asked, "Am I really that predictable?"

"In a word – yes," Virgil grinned, taking the sting out of his answer. "Give me some of that. I brought my own glass."

"Man, I am predictable," Scott groused as he handed the bottle over. "I'm barely in my thirties and you know every move I'll make."

They subsided for a moment or two while Virgil got settled and took a sip from his now full glass, savoring the rich liquid.

Scott finally broke the silence. "Yeah, I'm predictable all right. I always toe the line. Unlike some people I know." His gave broodingly followed the sleek lines of the dark machine in front of him.

Virgil had to laugh. "No, predictable is not a word I'd ever use to describe Alan."

Scott had to grin in response and agreed, his mood lightening somewhat for a moment. "Man, that kid used to make me nuts. He was always into something he shouldn't have been, and always had a reason for it – even if it was BS. He'd look me square in the eye and tell me to back off, and all of the time I was trying to keep whatever it was from Dad in order to save his hide. Little shit!"

"Used to do the same thing to Dad too," Virgil commented, grinning at the memories.

"Used to? Who are you kidding! He still does. Or did." The grin disappeared quickly. "I always admired that in him, you know? The kid's brave. He always has been. Got to hand it to him. He couldn't have been more than twelve, and he'd go toe to toe with Dad." Scott shook his head in amazement. "There were Air Force officers who wouldn't risk that."

"I know. Stupid, but brave. He never won by doing that, usually just made things worse. But he never quit, I'll have to give him that."

"Yep, tenacious little brat." Scott paused for a moment. "I never told him that, you know? How much I admired his guts and his tenacity."

"Stubbornness," Virgil corrected.

Scott shrugged. "Whatever. But it can be a really good trait. I never told him how proud I was of his guts and determination. Instead I just kept telling him to toe the line, obey the rules."

"Good thing, too," Virgil commented. "I seriously doubt Alan would have lived long enough to grow up if you hadn't beaten that into that into his head. Standing up to Dad occasionally was fine. Doing it more often than that was more like suicide."

Scott sighed his agreement. "And Al was suicidal all right."

"More often than not," Virgil agreed. "Although you have to admit it was entertaining to see Father go bright red and Alan just looking at him, saying either 'No' or 'Why?'. Got us off the hook for a lot, as I remember, with Father so furious and focused on Al."

Scott snorted, nearly spraying his drink. "I'll say. And you're right – it was always the flat 'No' or the 'Why'. I spent more time just trying to keep that kid alive! The last thing I was going to tell him was that I was impressed."

"I'll say. But, you know, Dad was too. Even when he wanted to throttle him."

"I know." Scott continued softly into the silence. "I wonder if he ever told Alan that."

"I doubt it," Virgil responded. "You know how Dad is about maintaining discipline. But I know I saw Dad blink a time or two at the 'Why' over the years. Made him think, that's for sure."

Oh yeah. I have to hand it to Dad. If he thought Alan was being reasonable he gave him an answer, then cracked down on him. Other times he stuck with the normal parental 'because'."

Virgil nodded sagely. "Caught Dad out a couple of times, too. But it was always the defiance that got Alan into trouble. Of course that's the same trait that has saved all of our butts a time or two during rescues."

"Yep. Defying orders because he's asked himself 'why' and not gotten a good answer and saved our necks because of it. You know," Scott commented thoughtfully, "that could be called 'initiative' in an adult, and considered a good thing, but not as a kid. I guess I've been realizing that I'm still stuck in the pattern of when he was a child – trying to get him to obey the rules, rather than giving him credit for the common sense to know when to obey, and when it's better not too. Alan's grown up, and I haven't let him," Scott finished sadly.

"I know the feeling," Virgil said quietly.

There was a moment or two of silence, then Virgil commented, "Can you believe that he told Dad how he felt about Mom?"

Scott shuddered and drained down the last swallow in his glass. "That took a braver man than I'll ever be," he stated flatly.

"Amen to that."

Silence descended again for awhile, as the brothers sat quietly in the dark silo.

"You know this is eating Dad alive," Scott finally ventured.

Virgil just nodded. No need to state the obvious. They all knew how deeply Jeff cared for all of his sons.

They fell silent again, each pouring another drink, and nursing it quietly.

"I'm worried about Gordon," Scott finally said. "He was really hurt by what Alan said."

"Has he talked to you?" Virgil asked in surprise. Gordon didn't often go to Scott. He talked to Alan. He always said Scott made him crazy with the mother hen routine. He had one father, he didn't need two.

"No," Scott answered bitterly. "I'm the perfect heir. Why would he?"

Virgil looked at his brother in alarm. "Scott . . ."

Scott waved his concern away. "No, it's okay. That just hit pretty close to home. Alan made it pretty clear where he stood, and I can guess about Gordon. But what about you and John?" Scott looked at him seriously.

"Do you mean, do I feel in your shadow? Yes – you're taller than I am."

Scott snickered appreciatively at the sally, then sobered. "Seriously."

"Me? No. But you definitely have a special place with Dad. My talents are very different – thankfully." He shrugged. "John's too. He's always filled in the gaps between the two of us." He paused. "As for the younger ones? Well, Gordon – he's ALWAYS gone his own way. But I have to say, hearing Dad lecture those two over and over when they were kids on how they should strive to live up to your example made me cringe more than once." He continued thoughtfully. "I think maybe Gordon did feel overshadowed once, and that's why all the pranks started when he was a kid."

Scott nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, maybe. But between WASP and swimming, Gordon doesn't have to compare himself to any of us any more."

"Now," Virgil pointed out. "And knowing Gordon, he's kept the pranks up because he enjoys them."

"But Al," Scott began pensively, "Never really had that outlet. Not even racing gave him any clout. It was just cars – not airplanes or rockets. And all I did was ride his case about it through college, trying to get him through his engineering courses and away from the cars. He was so dammed good at engineering too, but he just didn't, or wouldn't, apply himself. I kept telling him you'd help him if he asked, and nagging. 'Pay more attention in school, you're here to learn, not wreck cars.' I never did tell him how good I thought he was at racing – I was just afraid that if I gave him any encouragement at all, it would take his attention away from what was important and bring Dad down on him again. Dad came down on him enough. Man, how he must have resented me," Scott whispered, the hurt apparent in his voice at the thought of his adored baby brother. "And there I was, always riding his case."

Virgil mused awhile, chewing that thought around. "I don't know if 'resented' is the right word. He always admired you Scott. Geez, anybody could see that. Hell, he idolized you! I think the issue wasn't that everybody was telling him how wonderful you were – he agreed with that. I think it was more the 'you should try to be just like Scott' or 'why couldn't you do it like your oldest brother'. I think he wanted too, but he just couldn't figure out how to do it. It's just not in his make up. So he felt like a failure." Virgil took another sip, then realized that Scott was staring at him. He added self-consciously, "How was that for pop-psychology?"

"No, I think you may have nailed it," Scott said slowly. "It would sure explain the chip on his shoulder."

They sat in silence awhile longer, slowly sipping their drinks and thinking.

"You know, it really is amazing how things may not be as you've perceived them all of your life," Virgil said reflectively. "All of a sudden, something happens and there is a completely different side to things."

"Yep, I know what you mean."

There wasn't much else to say after that. The brothers just tapped their glasses together and sat in companionable silence, staring at the giant red rocket which was the tangible symbol for their much missed youngest brother.

**SECOND CODETTA – FIRST VOICE**

"Alan. Go. Home." Kenny spoke distinctly and clearly as he saw the young man heading purposefully for the race car. They had just unloaded after returning to their home base.

"I just wanna see . . ."

"ALAN!" Alan turned reluctantly at Kenny's stern voice. "Go home. The car is fine. We'll look it over tomorrow."

"Yeah," Pat Young, Kenny's assistant agreed tiredly. "If you stay, so do I."

Alan laughed sheepishly. "Okay, okay."

There was a moment of silence, and Alan realized that the two older men wouldn't move until he did, thus ensuring he actually left. Throwing up his hands in surrender, he preceded them out the door of the garage.

The same scenario played out as they got into their cars, waiting for Alan to drive off first. He gave up. Throwing a jaunty wave in their direction, he roared off towards the apartment he was calling home.

It was a nice apartment, in a good location, in a small exclusive building. Architecturally, it was lovely, but in Alan's unit, that was about it. Good bones waiting for the external furnishings he had yet to add – even after three months.

Alan unlocked the door and walked into the silent, unlived-in feeling apartment. Virgil would have loved it, he though to himself. It had all of the details that the engineer/artist raved about. Arched doorways, unstinting molding, and lots of built-ins. Alan knew it would be nice. Someday. When he finally got around to unpacking the boxes he'd had sent from the storage unit. Funny, he felt more at home at the garage.

He looked around with a sigh, as he dropped his leather duffel bags in the front hall, kicking the door shut behind him. The living room was just a stack of boxes. Instead of a couch in front of the fireplace and French doors to the balcony, it was boxes. He just hadn't gotten around to getting any furniture yet.

Alan knew the other rooms weren't much better. There WAS an actual bed in the master bedroom, but not anything else. The den was really the only room with any real furniture. His computer, TV and stereo, plus an easy chair were located there.

Looking around the barren apartment, with all its potential, but just cold right now. Memories of Grandma and Kyrano arguing in the kitchen while enticing smells came from it. His brother's voices, arguing, laughing and mocking. And TinTin . . . Alan blocked that memory ruthlessly. He just couldn't go there. Maybe it was time to get moved in.

Heaving a sigh, Alan moved slowly to the pile of boxes. He'd already opened the boxes containing his clothes, and the one with his wedding portrait. He wasn't sure he could stand much else. Even the portrait was tough. Sometimes he could look at it, other times he had to turn it over. Alan had a lot more understanding about his father's reaction to his mother's death now. He could even sympathize with how his father had reacted. It was taking all of his self-control not to follow Jeff's example – it would be so easy. But he'd lived with the consequences of his father's reaction all of his life and Alan refused to become a slave to that grief as his father had. As hard as it was, he intended to take a different path.

The first box he opened held books. This was okay. Most of his books had to do with cars anyway. Or space travel. Sitting on the floor, he thumbed through them idly, then stacked them on the floor next to the wall. He'd have to get a bookcase, he thought absently.

He hesitated as he came across a coffee table book on the history of space flight. It was a gorgeous book, with autographs from as many of the astronauts that were still living as John had been able to locate. There was even an inscription from his father next to his picture. It had been a gift from the middle brother on Alan's acceptance to NASA, with a comment that the astronauts in the family needed to stick together. Most of the autographs were congratulatory messages to Alan, specifically on his acceptance to the program.

He ran a hand over the cover. He'd loved this book and what it represented. His acceptance into his family as an adult, or so he had thought. He had stood, ready to take his place with them. But then the actual reality had sunk in. He felt so conflicted as he looked at what was now a tangible symbol of the problems with his family and his life. He'd felt such a part of something at that time. Part of the family tradition. And he'd done well. He was in the top ten percent of the training program. But John had been number one. So had his father. So, in essence, he'd failed - again. Missed the Tracy standard by a mile.

Thrusting the book from him onto the haphazard pile, he got to his feet and moved to another box. Maybe unpacking the books hadn't been such a great idea. He selected another box at random and opened it, and froze. This box was full of gaily wrapped presents. All colors and all shapes.

Alan reached in tentatively, taking hold of one of the presents as though it might bite him. He looked at the card with his name on it. Putting down the package and opening the card, he read it. '_Happy Birthday, Alan. Thought we'd forgotten you? Not a chance. Not sure when this will find you, but I'm thinking of you - Gordon._'

Stunned, he replaced the card and looked at another. There were gifts from his whole family. He recognized the various handwritings on the envelopes. Grandma, his father, all of his brothers and Kyrano and Brains as well. There were even a couple with no writing on the envelopes. Alan dropped the last as though it burned him. He couldn't deal with this right now. He couldn't even bring himself to open the cards. He needed to stay strong, and see this through. Not be reduced to the level of 'little brother' again. He quickly shut the box, and gave up on unpacking.

He headed into the den instead, and turned on his computer, happy to lose himself in his genealogy project.


	3. Part III Modulating Theme

**FUGUE**

**A Thunderbirds story in five parts**

By Spense

Note: This is TV Verse. Don't own them, not making money . . . etc.

Fugue:

**1:** a dreamlike state of altered consciousness that may last for hours or days **2:** a musical form consisting of a theme repeated a fifth above or a fourth below its first statement

_Music._ An imitative polyphonic composition in which a theme or themes are stated successively in all of the voices of the contrapuntal structure.

In music, a fugue is a type of piece written in counterpoint for several independent musical voices. A fugue begins with its subject (a brief musical theme) stated by one of the voices playing alone. A second voice then enters and plays the subject, while the first voice continues on with a contrapuntal accompaniment. Then the remaining voices similarly enter one by one. The remainder of the fugue further develops the material using all of the voices. (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

**PART THREE **

**MODULATING THEME **

_**PEDAL-POINT, REDEFINING THE ORIGINAL THEME**_

Alan and Kenny had their heads down under the hood of Alan's car, trying to find a minor problem with the fuel pump. It was driving them crazy, so when one of the kids working in the shop poked his head out and yelled that 'International Rescue was on TV', they were more than happy to pack it in.

Alan headed into the office with the rest, wiping his hands on a rag. He was really torn. The last several months had been peaceful for him in an odd way. He was extremely busy on the racing circuit, and around people and chaos all the time. But it was chaos he understood.

His pet project of family history was keeping him busy in the evenings when he wasn't here. He'd learned some about his mother. It was harder, though, than he'd bargained on. Alan had always found the internet to be a great source of information, but what he hadn't realized was that somebody had to put the information out there. There was tons on the Tracy family – Jeff was an American hero and, to put it bluntly, he was rich. The general public had a fascination for the rich, and Jeff was reclusive and mysterious as well. Therefore, fodder for magazine speculation.

But as for Lucy Evans Tracy, there wasn't a lot out there about her prior to her marriage. Alan had never realized the true gulf between the rich and the true middle class. Lucy had been middle class – therefore, uninteresting to the media. He was getting quite an education right there.

However, he was ferreting out some information. He'd found her college information and other things from her time in the States. He was just now starting to dig into the information from England, and that was proving harder yet. But still, he felt like he was finally doing something constructive. Even his grief, still a tangible presence, was somehow more manageable.

Now International Rescue was on TV. Alan wasn't sure he wanted to jeopardize the precarious balance in his life by seeing his immediate family in any form. It was bad enough seeing Tracy Enterprises all over the news and in magazines such as World Wide Fortune and World Newsweek all the time. He'd had no idea Tracy Enterprises had expanded that much. Go figure.

However, he followed Kenny into the small crowded office, and gathered around the screen hanging on the wall. This office sure didn't feel this small when he was here late at night.

The World Wide News Network was all over the story. It was a big fire on the top of a high-rise building. The reporter was narrating the scene.

"Now, because of International Rescue's edict of no video or still footage of any kind, we are instead concentrating on the sections that do not show the incredible vehicles themselves. I can tell you that the burning helijet on top of the building itself is causing all sorts of problems for the crew of International Rescue."

"The building itself from floors 170 down is shut off and secure, however we understand that there are five individuals trapped on the 178th floor, two below the helijet pad. The fire has engulfed all of those floors. International Rescue has lowered a platform from Thunderbird Two to the windows of the 178th floor and is trying to get the people out that way. Here, we'll try to zoom in."

The camera panning the building suddenly zoomed in on a fuzzy shot of the top of a large building reaching near the clouds. Flames and smoke were soaring out of the windows and the top of the building.

As the camera zoomed still closer, Alan could see the rescue platform, silhouetted against the flames and smoke. There were two figures on the platform, one undistinguishable, wielding what was apparently a water canon of some type, and one with unmistakable read hair.

Alan watched in concern. 'Man, you are out of your element here Gordon. Be careful!'

"Look at those guys!" A voice behind Alan chortled. "Man, aren't they something!"

"Yeah, you wouldn't get me up there for anything," Pat commented firmly. "Way too high up there for me."

Alan tuned them out, and watched with tension radiating from every muscle. He could almost hear the conversations, see Scott on the ground with Mobile Control. He was pretty sure it was probably John on the platform with Gordon, given the normal rotation schedule. Brains would be taking his place, he was sure of that. That new water canon sure looked to be working well. Alan had helped with the original design, with rescues like this one forefront in mind.

The water canon blasted a way into the windows, keeping them clear for the trapped survivors to make their way out.

"Look at that," Kenny muttered. "I can't imagine how they are getting those people from the window to that cage 178 floors above the ground. That's got to be some pilot, getting them in that close."

"I'll say. Amazing flying," another mechanic agreed.

Alan felt a surge of pride. Virgil was amazing. He could drive or fly just about anything.

"No!" A myriad of gasps went up from the crowd as the platform suddenly dropped straight down. The quick thinking camera man panned out to keep his picture on the image. The platform dropped 20 feet, then stopped abruptly, throwing all inside to be knocked off their feet, but thankfully not out.

Alan watched in horror as each slowly got to their feet. Gordon was the last, moving with a stiffness that probably only Alan or one of his brothers would have recognized.

"Damm," he muttered quietly. Gordon's back was not going to be good after today.

"You said it," Kenny said, not knowing the train of Alan's thought. "Close one, wasn't it? Wonder what happened. Wouldn't I love to see one of those machines." He shook his head in amazement.

The reporter came back on. "I've just spoken to the field commander of International Rescue. He stated that the slip was a result of an explosion of an additional helijet on the pad, and that no harm was done. They have all the trapped people off safely, and are lifting them onto Thunderbird Two as we speak."

She looked up to the sky and continued speaking. "I'm sorry not to be able to show you this sight, folks - it's really amazing. But with all International Rescue does, well, it's the one thing they ask of us. We're just grateful they were here today."

The newscast cut out at that time, and Kenny began shooing everybody back to work. Alan trailed along after the crowd, his mind filled with concern about Gordon.

_TB TB TB TB TB_

Mid summer, much to his chagrin, Gordon Tracy found himself up on TB Five 10 days earlier than the original scheduled changeover. He'd been involved with a fire rescue and had strained his back. He was fine, but he was very stiff. And with his history of back trouble Jeff had deemed it wiser for him to be someplace where he could remain quiet.

Gordon hated it. Absolutely detested every minute of being in space, and now he was stuck here for an additional ten days. The inactivity was driving him crazy for one thing. For another, he still had never managed to get over being space sick. He was always running for the head. He didn't know how John and Alan did it. Or Jeff for that matter. Brains even handled it fine!

The first 48 hours were really the worst. By morning, if past experience was anything to dictate, he should be feeling passable. So when the communicator buzzed at what was 2am Tracy Island time, Gordon wasn't sure whether he wanted to answer it or not.

He'd already heard from his Father, Scott and John at various different times. Grandma had chimed in as well - all wanting to know whether his back was bothering him, was he sick, etc. You'd think he was twelve from the sounds of it. Gordon was getting disgusted by the whole thing. All he had left to do was hear from Virgil and Brains. Virgil would be sound asleep right now, and probably wouldn't wake until late morning, if he was left in peace that long.

So, probably Brains or Scott again. Since Alan had left, Scott had been on overload, making sure he hadn't missed anything like he had with his youngest brother. Life was a living hell for the rest of Scott's brothers right now. If he didn't knock it off soon, Gordon just might have to deck him one. In the pool, if possible. He was faster in water. Gordon sighed and keyed the connection.

"So just how space sick are you?" Gordon was flabbergasted. The words and the sentiment were exactly as expected - just not the speaker. It took him a moment to put together the cheerful tone with the knowing smirk of his younger brother.

"Al?" he asked incredulously. "What . . .?" He noticed what looked like a sparsely furnished office with a work bench filled with car parts behind his brother.

Alan laughed outright. "Not too often I find you at a loss for words!"

"Geez! How did you know I was here?" Gordon finally sputtered.

Alan shrugged, slightly uncomfortable. "I saw the rescue on the World Wide News. It was pretty obvious everybody hit the bottom of the platform pretty hard. And since one someone had red hair, and was moving like his back was made of concrete, well, I thought that Dad would probably put you someplace useful."

Gordon heard the guilt in the unsaid 'because you were short-handed' and moved to reassure his brother. He was absolutely delighted to hear from him. "Ah, it's nothin'. Dad's a worrier, you know that."

Alan snorted at the reality of that comment. Gordon had no idea just how much of a worrier. He wasn't the youngest. However, the hydrofoil accident had about made him equal to Alan in the mother hen aspect of his father and brothers, so of all of them, he probably did understand the best.

Alan also wasn't buying the 'I'm just fine' sentiment. He'd helped Gordon through the worst of the aftermath of the accident, and the work it took to get him back on his feet. He knew better. He knew Gordon was hurting, and that Five was the best place for him. But, he let it slide.

"So you didn't answer my question? How space sick are you?"

Gordon grimaced. "You have no idea. And you actually liked coming up here?"

Alan laughed out loud. "No, I just liked the rush of the rocket flight!"

"Well, you've sure been getting enough speed right now. You've certainly been cleaning up on the racing circuit."

Alan looked surprised. "You've been watching?"

"Of course, jackass. We all have. Grandma's keeping a scrapbook."

Now Alan looked truly dumbfounded. "You're kidding."

"No! What'd you think? We'd erased you from the family bible? Nice try kiddo. Come to think of it, I think Virgil may have lobbied for it. He's still pretty sore over you wrecking a certain car of his, but he was over ruled, and in the end he agreed." Gordon grinned.

"You helped!" Alan replied, incensed. "Besides that was a long time ago."

"Come on, I'm joking! Lighten up! Seriously, everybody's been pretty concerned about you."

"Well, after what I said . . . " Alan trailed of uncertainly, looking away.

Gordon sighed heavily, glad to be able to tell his favorite brother a few home truths of his own. "Alan, everybody's really missed you. You only spoke the truth. You should have said it years ago, in my opinion," he stated firmly. "Scott's commented the same thing. He wished he'd known."

Alan's mouth tightened. "Well, he could have opened his eyes."

"Yeah, yeah," Gordon said hastily. "I agree. But at least he's moving in the right direction." He quickly changed the subject to a more neutral topic. "So, you're back with Kenny. How do you like the team?"

Alan readily followed his lead, to Gordon's heartfelt relief. He really wanted to reconnect with his younger brother, and Alan apparently felt the same way. But he'd have to go carefully, he knew. They talked for more than an hour until Alan finally signed off.

That became the pattern when Gordon was on TB Five. He'd let Alan know his schedule, or call him from the privacy of his sitting room when he was home. He kept the calls quiet from his family. Alan had requested that, and Gordon had told him he'd already decided to do so anyway. He had a feeling that Alan might be making night calls to Grandma too, but he never asked, and Alan never mentioned anything.

They talked about anything and everything, just like they used to, with the one exception being the family. To Alan, the subject of his father and brothers was still taboo, and Gordon wanted nothing to jeopardize their resumed relationship.

_**COUNTERPOINT, NEW SOPRANO VOICE**_

Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward was amazed as FAB-1 pulled up in front of the track where Alan was currently racing. Although an off day with no racing taking place, the track had one of its 'open' afternoons, allowing fans to come watch the training runs. It was a mad-house of cars, race cars, racing teams and groupies. FAB-1 didn't even get a second glance other than a few appreciative looks.

After asking around and finding out that Alan was out on the track, Lady Penelope instructed Parker to stay with the car, and found a quiet corner in the area where she was told Alan could come back to. It wasn't more than a few minutes before she saw a driver pull off his helmet revealing Alan's distinct bright blond hair.

Penny watched with interest as Alan wove through the gauntlet of fans, stopping agreeably to sign autographs and chat with the fans. As she watched and listened, Penelope was amazed at the ease with which Alan interacted with the fans. Penny's observant eye watched carefully. He was congenial, polite, and kind, while still apart. This was new. Gone was the edgy, somewhat brash young man she had known.

Penny reflected on the many conversations she'd had with this young man's very worried father. He was concerned that Alan would dive into a depression, and possibly turn to drink or drugs – any number of things. Knowing Alan as she did, Penelope had to admit that given the atmosphere he was in at the racecourse, anything could happen. Alan didn't have the same level of introspection that his brothers did. He was much more reactive, less thoughtful.

Jeff had not asked her to come. He would never have done that. In fact, he didn't even know she was here. No, Penny was here on her own. She watched as Alan smiled and talked with the fans, observing and storing away small bits of information, until a conversation nearby drew her attention at the mention of the Tracy name.

"Look at that, will ya?" a wry voice commented. "Tracy's at it again." A man in mechanics overalls was talking to an older driver who grinned.

"Yeah, wish I know how he does it. He's got 'em eating out of his hand."

"Well, the kid's polite," the mechanic commented.

"I'll say. It's nice to see somebody with manners in this set. We might actually get a reputation for being something besides beer-drinking rednecks if Tracy decides to stick around this time."

The mechanic clapped the older man on the shoulder and laughed at the stereo-type, and the two of them turned away. Penny turned thoughtfully back to the scene in front of her. Alan was finishing up patiently with the fans. As the young girls took their prizes and headed off giggling, Alan continued his unknowing trek back towards Penny. For a moment, his face was unguarded. The only term Penny could use for his expression was bleak, and her heart went out to him.

Alan was at a turning point in his life. His wife had died, he was trying to become somebody other than just the youngest Tracy brother, and he had cut himself off from his family in order to accomplish that. Penny sighed mentally. All of the Tracys seemed to have a need to do things the hard way. Why couldn't they just do something the simple way for a change? She answered herself almost immediately. Because then they wouldn't be a Tracy.

"Alan!" She called, catching his attention. Because she was watching him so carefully, she could see the fast play of expressions across his face. The bleakness to recognition to wariness warring with welcome. She and Alan had always gotten along pretty well, but she knew he would be convinced that she was here because of his father.

"Lady P!" 

He greeted her warmly enough, she was relieved to notice as he continued towards her. Jeff would throttle her if she did anything that worsened the situation.

"Alan. So good to see you! I'm not interrupting, I hope?"

Alan smiled. "No, of course not. What are you doing here?"

The twenty-four thousand dollar question. But Penny hadn't been a government agent for as long as she had and not be able to handle a tricky situation.

"To see you, of course."

Alan cocked his head and looked thoughtfully at her. No doubt, that was exactly why she was here. And he was pretty sure - no, scratch that, convinced - that she knew all about the scene at the hospital. Jeff would have discussed every detail with her. Regardless of popular opinion, he really did know his father pretty well. But had Jeff sent her? Or was she here on her own?

Alan was under no illusions when it came to Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. He had always been, and would continue to be cautious of her abilities. She was a smart, tough lady, and he'd felt the rough edge of her tongue more than once. Usually he'd deserved it. Oh, she'd filleted him in the most polite, upper-crust British way possible, but she could sure take a guy down a peg or two when she wanted. But overall, they'd always gotten along pretty well.

However, she and his father were close, and Jeff was always going to be first and foremost in Penny's mind, no question there. Frankly, Alan would not have been at all surprised to have Penny as a stepmother someday. He just wished his father would get off the stick and ask her and make an honest woman of her. Honestly, his father was such an idiot sometimes.

But Alan's perspective had changed, and he had a new appreciation of his father's thought process, having lost his own wife. He felt the knife turn in his stomach, and resolutely closed down any line of thought on TinTin. But his tragedy was fresh and Lucille Tracy had been dead for 23 years. Jeff never had to forget her, but man, he could, no 'needed', to move on with his own life.

Besides, it wasn't like Jeff had been celibate. For cripes sake, Penny had named the Australian sheep ranch she had purchased Bonga Bonga! Regardless of how discreet they thought they were, how much more obvious could you get than that? For one thing, the ranch was practically in Tracy Island's backyard, thus a whole lot more convenient than England, AND she dragged Jeff there as often as he'd let her do it. Contrary to popular family opinions, Alan was no fool.

He'd also noticed Scott, Virgil and John's tightened lips at the mere mention of Penny and her ranch. They'd never discussed it with him – why would they? To them, Alan would always be a child. Now there were three other men who needed to get over the past and move on as well. Good lord. Penny was great, and she loved his father a lot, and clearly, the feeling was returned. So where was the big deal? Granted, maybe Alan was better prepared to deal with the situation, not having known his mother. That was probably another reason why he and Penny had gotten along so well – he didn't find her competition for his mother's memory. He suddenly wondered just what kind of skirmishes may have occurred between the older three Tracy sons and Penny that he didn't know about. Interesting. Anyway, another problem for another day.

Alan focused thoughtfully on the elegant woman in front of him once more. She was a lady to the core, but she could also be down and dirty straight-forward. And she didn't disappoint him this time either.

"I'm not here because of your father, Alan. He has no idea that I've come to see you, and he'll probably dress me down thoroughly when I tell him. And I will tell him. I won't hold secrets from either of you, but I promise that neither will I interfere in your relationship with your family. You have my word. But I've been very concerned about you. You've been on my mind and I needed to reassure myself that you really are doing all right. Fair enough?"

Alan laughed. He couldn't help it. Shooting straight from the hip as always. "Fair enough, Lady P. I'm fine. See?" He spread his arms open so she could take a good look at him.

"So I see! You do look like you need to eat more, though," she said critically, her head cocked as she studied him.

"I suppose," he said, indifferently. "But you can see I'm fine. I'm not pining, I'm not self-destructive, and I'm not suicidal. Okay?" He finished with a bit of an edge to his voice.

"Okay, darling, so I see. I'm convinced." She laughed and reached out to hug him, neatly defusing the situation.

He returned the gesture readily. He could see she really meant it.

As they separated, she continued. "I'll say it once, then I'll drop the subject and not bring it up unless you want to talk about it." She continued quickly as his face began to harden. "I'm so sorry about TinTin. You deserved to have your life with her be long and happy, not cut short." She knew she'd said the right thing as his face reflected surprise that she wasn't bringing up his father, and then a heart wrenching gratitude at her words.

This time, Alan initiated the hug, and said quietly into the air behind her, "Thanks Lady P. You don't know how much that means."

Penny hugged him close for a moment. Poor Alan. She realized suddenly that she must be the first person to just let him be a grieving widower. The whole dammed Tracy clan just made things so incredibly difficult for themselves – Alan included! This young man needed to be home right now, recovering with the support of his family, not trying to do this alone. But the situation was what it was, and there was nothing she could do to change it or the past, but she could support him now and in the time to come.

Lady Penelope just tightened her grip of him for a moment, slightly surprised that he let her, and allowed him get his bearings. When he finally released her, she said brightly, "Now, I want to know what you've been doing! Racing obviously. And winning. How about that car of yours? May I see it?"

"Of course! Where's Parker?" Alan recovered quickly. He'd had lots of practice doing that these past months. "He'll want to see it too, I know." Alan and Parker both liked engines and had always talked cars whenever they could. They'd always gotten along famously as well.

"He's with FAB-1. Shall we go get him?"

"Yes, and then I'll treat you both to lunch. Sound good?" Alan asked, grinning, his spirits raised.

'Wonderful!" Penny said smiling, as she took his arm. This promised to be a lovely afternoon. Alan looked genuinely pleased to see her. She planned to make the most of it, and get his spirits up as much as the situation would allow.

"Lead on," Alan instructed, and allowed himself to be led towards the parking lot. He knew that Penny would report on him to his father, and that was fine. There was no subterfuge here and he could live with that. He also knew she was as good as her word, and that she wouldn't allude to TinTin, or to his family, nor would she interfere in any way unless he asked. Therefore, it actually did promise to be an enjoyable afternoon and he planned to make the most of it. Life had been very bleak as of late, and an unexpected bright spot was something to be enjoyed.

_**STRETTO, REPRISE**_

Alan worked late that evening in the garage workshop to make up for the afternoon off he'd taken. Not that anybody had even suggested it. It was just Alan's own sense of responsibility that made him do it. That and the fact that he felt he was close to a break through on a particular pet project he'd been working on since he first started racing years ago.

He also used the quiet time to explore his mother's family's past. He had his laptop set up, and was perusing the internet, looking for clues. Between the two projects, he usually stayed late at the track, where ever they happened to be. He found it to be peaceful and productive.

As his finger flew over the keyboard, he smiled as he thought of the afternoon with Penny. It had been fun. He'd really enjoyed himself. He hadn't had much fun the last several months, that was for sure. He liked racing, and it gave him a thrill and made him feel alive. That was important right now – finding reasons to keep living. Racing definitely helped. And he was good at it. That helped too. His self-esteem was pretty low.

His fellow drivers at the track didn't know that. Nor did they realize that racing just wasn't the complete rush for him that it was for them. Not after working as an astronaut for as long as he had, or piloting Thunderbird One occasionally. Not after International Rescue. But the trade off was worth it. Maybe he didn't get the adrenaline rush he used too, but he was his own person.

And the afternoon with Penny had helped with that too. She treated him as an adult. An adult with opinions that mattered. She almost undid him when she talked about TinTin. But that felt good too. Cathartic, almost.

Alan's attention was wrenched from his thoughts back to his computer as a search he'd had going came back with the results. He'd gotten another hit on Lucille Evans Tracy. This time he'd finally found information on her immediate family history in England. Eagerly, he clicked on the link, only to be disappointed again. Lots of pictures, lots of facts, no meat. He just couldn't get a sense of her personality, and it was driving him crazy. Names, dates, places, times. Her parents' names and date of death in a car accident the year after she'd married Jeff. Her birthday. Her date of death, which, no surprise there, corresponded with the date of his birth. But nothing about what she liked, or what she did. He still felt like he didn't know her. Well, he might never. But at least now he knew what she looked like. And . . . a new fact – she had a brother.

TB TB TB TB TB 

One by one the Tracy brothers straggled into the lounge. It was late, and the hot tropical night felt like velvet. The rescue, a long, hard, dirty cave-in, was finally successfully completed, with no loss of life. Now, the 'Birds' were back, post flight checks and refueling completed, and the boys staggered up to their suites. Now, showered and in clean clothes, they limped into the lounge for debriefing and refueling themselves before hitting the sack.

Virgil dropped limply into a chair, staring at the platter of sandwiches and mugs of soup with longing, but not sure he wanted to move to get one. "That has to have been one of the toughest rescues we've been on in a long time."

Grandma took pity on him, filling a plate and handing it too him.

He looked at her in gratitude. "Thanks Grandma. You're a diamond among pearls," he complimented gratefully as he dug in.

She smiled at him and patted his hand. "You've earned it. It did sound like a lot of work."

Gordon helped himself, then dropped into another chair. "It was the most work we've had to do in a really long time. We practically had to dig them out by hand, the basement was so unstable."

Jeff gazed in pride at his sons. Scott was busy wolfing down a sandwich in about two bites. He'd already finished one and was working on a second. Jeff wasn't surprised. They'd been out nearly 18 hours on this one. A large building had been hit by a landslide, trapping a dozen people in the debris of the basement. The Mole and all of their other machinery was not usable because of the instability. They had, literally, dug the people out by hand.

"I'm proud of you boys. You did excellent work today."

They all basked silently in the praise, content to eat at the moment.

John's voice came plaintively from his portrait. "I can see those sandwiches, and I can practically taste them. But I can't even touch them!"

"Too bad, Johnnie boy. Their all for us!" Gordon teased around his mouthful of food.

"And please don't tell me that's seafood chowder!" John just moaned.

"Okay, we won't," Scott tossed his brother's way. "I think you've got an instant meal up there that's supposed to taste like seafood, don't you?"

John just growled in frustration. "Next time I'm down earth side, Scott, next time. You just watch yourself."

"Now, now, boys. Gordon, don't talk with your mouth full. Scott, stop teasing your brother," Josie chastised. "Virgil, at least you've got manners!"

"That's because his mouth is so stuffed, he can't talk!" Gordon laughed.

"Enough," Jeff said sternly, putting a stop to the banter. He looked around suddenly. "Where's Brains?"

Scott shrugged. "He stayed down in the workshop. I think he's got some ideas for some smaller, more delicate tools we can use in a situation like this for the future."

Jeff just sighed. He'd long since stopped trying to stop the brilliant man's creative urges. There was a couch in Brains' workshop for just that reason, along with a full bath, and a stocked refrigerator. This wouldn't be the first time he didn't make it upstairs. "Alright. Now, what about the rescue?"

The boys immediately began to fill him in. Grandma excused herself after making sure they all had enough food, then headed for bed. But the men of International Rescue spent the next half hour or so professionally analyzing the rescue. What had gone wrong, what went right, and what to do differently next time. By the time they'd covered it all, Scott, Virgil and Gordon were replete with food and drink, and lounging bonelessly on the big easy chairs now that Grandma wasn't there to tell them to sit correctly.

"Anything else?" Jeff finally asked. He'd left his desk and had joined them around the coffee table.

Nobody could really think of anything and they were all beginning to think about packing it in for the night, when suddenly John snapped his fingers.

"Forgot to tell you. Alan raced today. It wasn't something on his schedule. Apparently it was an invitational only type thing, and he accepted at the last minute."

That got everybody's attention, and heads came up, eyes brightened, and posture straightened.

"Well?" Gordon demanded.

"Well, what?" John asked.

"Oh for pity's sake! How'd it go?" Virgil demanded.

"Oh. He won."

"Of course he won," Gordon said in disgust. "He's always winning. Did you think to record it? How tight a win was it? Was there any trouble?"

John started to laugh.

Better that John was laughing rather than getting mad at Gordon's tactlessness, Jeff decided. It was too late for a confrontation, and besides, he wanted the details as well. "Did you record it John?"

"Yep. It's on the main computer. I also downloaded it to the household computer so you can put it on the vid-screen anytime you want."

"Great, but it's late now, Johnny-boy, and I'm tired. You may like the dark and stars, but for me, they mean it's time to sleep. How about a quick play-by-play?" Scott asked tiredly.

"I agree. Go ahead, John," Jeff instructed.

"It was a great race. Tight though, and tough. Alan got pretty badly boxed in for the first part of it. Looked intentional too. But he managed to squeak through, and won by a nose." John shrugged. "Text-book driving too. I don't know what they're fueling that car with, but whatever Kenny's doing, it's been pretty amazing. Alan just can't seem to lose."

"Good for him," Virgil said with real pleasure.

"Yeah," Scott said slower. He looked thoughtful. "It sure would be nice to be able to congratulate him. I just hate being cut off."

The mood sobered. "I know," Jeff said quietly. "And I worry. I know Kenny will call me if something happens, but I'd like to be able to get in touch with Alan as well. For emergencies. I don't like being in the dark. Not that I can do anything about it," he finished sadly.

Gordon decided later that it must have been a combination of fatigue, pity for his father, and the huge amounts of food he eaten. He felt logy and slow. And he knew that regardless of whatever excuses he happened to come up with, if he'd been sharper he wouldn't have opened his mouth. "That's okay. I know how to reach him."

It was the dead silence that made Gordon realize exactly what he'd betrayed.

"Excuse me?" Scott said dangerously, his eyes narrowed.

Gordon looked nervously around the circle of faces and knew his goose was seriously cooked. It was amazing how menacing his brothers and father could be when they wanted to. Scott looked like he wanted to strangle him, Mt. St. Virgil was beginning to simmer, and he didn't even want to look at his father's face. If Scott and Virgil were daunting, his father was downright intimidating. And at least John was up on Five, safely far, far away, but he didn't look any less scary.

He looked nervously around him once more, and realized that he didn't have a prayer. So without any further prompting, praying Alan would understand (after all, he HAD grown up in the same family and didn't like being pounded anymore than Gordon did), he opened his mouth and started talking.

_**ANSWER, AUGMENTED**_

Scott pushed through the crowd grimly, Virgil close behind. The bar was a madhouse as the victory party for Alan and his racing team was in full swing. Scott was used to rough crowds, but he also appreciated restraint. This crowd apparently didn't. Women, groupies really, were on laps of any available driver, and besides the blatant sexual foreplay going on, he knew he was seeing as much activity related to recreational drugs as alcohol, although that was certainly in abundance.

Scott continued to push his way through the crush of bodies, scanning the crowd for Alan, trying to ignore his growing irritation. He knew he was being unreasonable. Irrational might be an even better way to put it. He had no right to be angry that Alan was a willing party to such a raucous, out of control crowd, especially considering some of the activities he'd taken part in at the same age.

But still, his brother was a Tracy, and he had no business heaping this kind of mud on the family name. Especially as he was very well known not only by his driving, but also by who his father was. Alan knew better.

Scott heaved a sigh as he pushed his way through the oblivious throng of people. As much as he loved his little brother, it still griped him about how he acted sometimes. Spoiled, no doubt about it. Comes with being the youngest of five, and no mother. Inevitable, he supposed.

Before he could vent his frustration by pushing harder on the bodies in front of him, he felt a calming hand on his shoulder. Looking behind him in surprise, he caught Virgil's knowing gaze and forced himself to take a deep breath.

How did Virgil always know what he was thinking? It didn't really matter, he just did. And they were here to try to repair the breach, not make it worse. After Gordon's revelation, Scott had pried his racing schedule out of him, and his home address. Gordon hadn't stood a chance. Scott wasn't his older brother by eight years without knowing exactly which buttons to push. There was a major race being held at the track where Alan's team was based. And since they now knew the address, and he and Virgil were long overdue for some shore leave, here they were. He nodded and Virgil smiled.

Suddenly Virgil's gaze sharpened at something over Scott's shoulder. Scott turned around to see their second quarry - Kenny Malone.

Kenny was at a table talking earnestly to another group of people that the brothers recognized as part of Alan's racing team. Young women of supermodel proportions and not a lot of clothing were draped over a couple of the group, even though the conversation was clearly business.

Scott and Virgil pushed their way purposefully through the crowd. Kenny looked up at their purposeful approach - out of place in the well lubricated crowd of the long underway victory celebration. He looked quizzically at them, not quite placing them.

"Scott Tracy," Scott identified himself with a smile and an outstretched hand. "Alan's brother." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Virgil, another brother."

Virgil smiled and extended his hand as well. Kenny's face cleared and he half stood to shake both their hands. "Nice to meet you," he greeted over the din with a smile. He looked at Virgil. "You're the engineer. Alan talked a lot about you when he was in college. You designed his original car," he stated. "Nice job on that."

"That's right," Virgil confirmed, pleased.

"We're trying to find Alan," Scott broke in, ignoring the pleasantries, intent on finding Alan. "Any ideas on where he is in this crush?" He looked around at the wild party, hiding his distaste.

The entire group at the table looked surprised.

"Alan's here?" One of the buxom girls perked up instantly. "Where?" A couple of others in the nearby vicinity immediately looked around with interest at Alan's name.

"No, Alan's not here," Kenny said with a faint grin, as all of the women in the vicinity promptly deflated. "He's back at the garage, as usual." He grinned bigger at Scott's and Virgil's obvious looks of surprise.

"I wish he'd come," one of the girls grumbled.

"He never comes, to any of the parties," another complained.

One looked Scott in the eye and flashed a saucy grin. "Tell him Tonya's waitin' sweetheart, if he'd ever show up to a party!"

Scott managed to keep a neutral expression on his face as Kenny just laughed. He was clearly enjoying the brother's discomfort. Scott suddenly wondered what Alan had told him. He knew Alan and Kenny went way back to Alan's college days. Scott had not been a favorite of Alan's at that time.

"Here," Kenny handed Scott a keycard. "This will let you into the track. He'll be at our garage. He can give it back to me later. I'll get in with one of the guys tomorrow."

"Thanks," Scott said, raising the card.

"Don't mention it, just tell Alan congrats again for me. It was an amazing win." He looked slightly challengingly at them.

"Yes, it was," Scott agreed smiling, as Virgil echoed him fervently. They'd been in the stands, watching as Alan had been boxed in, but still managed a near miraculous save to pull off the win. "They really had him trapped."

Kenny relaxed. "Yes, they did. He's been winning so much the guys are really gunning for him these days." He gave them directions to the track garage, and waved them off. Scott and Virgil fought their way back through the crowd. They were finally outside the bar, with the noise fading off into the background as the door shut behind them.

Scott stood still for a moment, breathing a sigh of relief at the calm. "Boy, do I feel like an idiot."

Virgil laughed. "Why? Because you were all ready to strangle Alan for being part of that free-for-all back there? Or because of your double standards? You used to do worse, as I recall." He hooked a thumb behind him indicating to the raucous crowd. He was enjoying this. Scott sometimes got a little too certain he was always right. Came from being the eldest, he supposed.

Scott had the grace to look chagrinned. He thought a moment. "Both, I guess. I was getting upset thinking how he was smearing the Tracy name all over kingdom come."

"Well, I have to admit it, I was too." Virgil suddenly grinned. "Could you just see Dad, if one of those bimbos showed up pregnant with the first Tracy grandchild?" Virgil winced as he remembered TinTin's pregnancy. Another child should have been the first Tracy grandchild. He wisely kept his mouth shut.

Scott snorted. "Unfortunately, that was on my mind too."

Virgil looked at him wryly. "You know, we're both lucky that we didn't present Dad with that scenario. You and I did far worse."

"Don't remind me," Scott groaned. "I feel stupid enough right now, just for assuming he'd be a part of it."

Virgil shrugged. "Old habits die hard. Is this a case of do what I say, not what I do?"

"I guess," Scott grumbled, refusing to rise to the bait. He knew Virgil was right, but with nine years difference between himself and Alan, old habits died hard. "I keep forgetting that Alan's an adult. It isn't my job to ride herd on him anymore. I don't think I give him nearly enough credit."

"Nope," Virgil agreed cheerfully, "You haven't."

"And that's been the big problem all along," Scott said glumly. "Well, time to be part of the solution instead of the problem. Let's go to the garage."

"Sounds good to me," Virgil agreed. "And it's probably good we didn't find him here. I think you'd have carved yourself out a larger part of the problem."

Scott couldn't argue with that one. He knew Virgil was right. He and his youngest brother maybe had more in common than either of them had ever realized - tempers and a tendency to jump to conclusions. And not always the right conclusions. He wondered how Alan felt about that. The same traits, specifically the decisiveness, could be viewed as positive in IRs field commander, but negative in the youngest member of the family, he realized suddenly. That put things in a whole new perspective, and Scott thought hard about it all the way to the track.

By contrast to the bar, the track was dead quiet. Scott and Virgil drove slowly through the maze and parked before the designated spot. The building that housed the home garage of Alan's racing team had the sole light on in the area.

Scott raised an eyebrow at Virgil, who just shrugged. They went through the main door into the garage proper, using the keycard. The light gleaming from the office door in the back corner made the shiny metal gleam darkly. The garage was neat, well kept and businesslike. Everything put away in its' place.

The elder Tracy brothers made their way across the dark concrete expanse and paused as one accord before the closed door. Through the glass window, they could see Alan seated at a built-in desk perpendicular to the door on the left side of the room. Car parts neatly spread in front of him, and an open lap top to his left, the screen facing towards Alan and away from the door.

Alan was dressed in jeans and a khaki shirt, blond hair richly glinting in the light. He looked fit and trim, just like any of the successful drivers on the circuit.

But Scott and Virgil could see marks others would not have noticed. The faint lines of strain on his face, the normal open, guileless eyes hooded, as though hiding a secret. In short, the face of a man who chose to conceal things from the world.

Scott met Virgil's gaze and lifted an eyebrow. Virgil nodded, having seen the changes himself. Both had been interested to note that Alan himself had never revealed any personal details in any of the interviews they had seen. He discussed racing - that was it. Regardless of the attempts of many of the interviewers to turn the conversation towards who his father was, or to the death of his wife, and try to turn him into a tragic hero. Alan just didn't allow that. Scott had been impressed.

With another glance at each other, Scott took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

The knock startled Alan. At the same time he was working on developing a more efficient engine, he was also deep into his pet genealogy project. He was starting to find some data on his uncle too. However it was hard going, he was proving harder to track than his sister.

He looked up in surprise. Nobody was usually around at this time. It was nearly 10pm and they were all almost always out partying. He'd discovered it was the best time to work. On both projects. At once. He was even more astonished to see his two oldest brothers. After a frozen half second, he waved them in, as he touched the screen of the computer, shutting it down, then immediately following by closing the lid of the laptop, hiding the screen altogether.

Alan stood up slowly, not sure what this was all about. The last time Alan had even spoken with either Scott or Virgil was in the hospital several months ago. He'd said some rather cutting things. Things he knew neither brother would be pleased to hear, much less excuse, or even tolerate. The only reason he could think that either would be here was in case of an emergency, regardless of what Gordon had tried to tell him about how much everybody missed him.

Gordon had called him and confessed to spilling the secret of their conversations. Alan had been pretty hot about it at first, but by the end of their talk, he had calmed down. Gordon hadn't meant to, and between Scott, Virgil and their father, with John on the link, it wasn't like he'd had a lot of choice. When the older Tracys presented a united front, life was over for the person who was their focus. Alan knew that. Both he and Gordon had had more than their fair share of that kind of familial pressure. Besides, Gordy had been just beside himself with remorse. And Alan had also realized that it wasn't like they couldn't find out the information of his whereabouts by doing a computer search either. In the end, he'd let it go. But he had expected that they would leave him alone. He'd made it pretty clear those were his wishes back at the hospital.

So, what were his oldest brothers doing here now? By their relaxed expressions, an emergency didn't appear to be the case. So what then? It seemed a little late to start taking him apart now. Maybe they hadn't before because they just didn't know where he was. Alan gave himself a mental shake. He felt like a kid again, wondering just what he'd done this time to make his parent and/or older brothers travel to his location in order to take him to task. He was just confusing himself with his mental gyrations. Basically, he just didn't get why they were here, and he'd better get hold of himself.

Although concerned about the reason they were here, Alan was really torn to see them there in front of him. In one sense, he was incredibly homesick. He missed his father and his brothers. From Scott's incessant bossiness, Virgil's music always reflecting his moods, John's ever ready ear, to Gordon's humor. But at the same time, Alan was still angry. Although his fury was no longer hot and blazing, it was still banked, ready to rekindle at the slightest provocation.

A part of him still longed to throw himself into his eldest brother's willing arms and sob out the pain in his soul as he had done as a child. Yet another part knew he'd drawn a line in the sand. And that that line was important, and his brothers needed to acknowledge it. And his father. Alan knew Gordon had, a long time ago. It was time the rest of them did.

Alan's resolve steeled again. He was not going to apologize to his elders. It was time they realized that they were not his betters, but his equals – and that he was entitled to his own opinions and feelings, whether he made mistakes or not. They were his to make.

Scott and Virgil both knew from the shocked expression on Alan's face as he recognized them that he hadn't expected them. Not now, and possibly not ever.

Virgil felt only acute sadness as Alan's face shuttered away any feelings quickly as he waved them in. He followed Scott through the door, never taking his eyes off of his youngest brother, as Alan shut down the computer and with a clear 'none of your business' motion, shut the laptop completely, then stood slowly, unconsciously defensive.

This should never have happened, Virgil thought in dismay. We all should have been more aware of Alan's feelings, and understood that they may be different than ours. Never just assumed that he would feel the same. That the situation had needed to come down to Alan finally pouring out his rage over his wife's deathbed was just unthinkable. A time when Alan apparently felt like he had nothing left to lose.

That Alan was still so defensive heaped more unhappiness on Virgil. Alan didn't trust them to not argue with him, even now, after all that had happened. All it did was show Virgil exactly how much they had all tried to steer Alan in one direction, and not in the one he was inclined to go, rather than let him be himself. They had tried to protect him, and instead had stifled him. It didn't matter that it had been out of love, the result was the same.

Virgil was reminded of Kyrano's comment, that awful day, asking them if they liked their youngest brother. They loved him, yes, but liked him? He could see the words that Alan had never heard Kyrano speak reflected in the wariness of his face. It dawned on him that Alan may also have wondered at times how much his brothers actually liked him. He was secure in the love of his family, but Gordon was the only one Virgil could remember Alan spending lots of time just doing 'nothing' with. The age difference between Alan and his three older brothers had meant that there had been a natural divide caused by maturity and interests.

Alan's suspicion as to why his two oldest brothers were here written on his face. It hit Virgil hard to realize that they had never come to see him 'just because,' when he'd been in school. Be it high school, college, or even NASA, if a brother or his father showed up, it usually wasn't good. There was usually some order to be given or a reprimand delivered. The poor kid. No wonder he'd been so desperate, and so grateful for TinTin. The loss that his youngest brother had suffered was borne in yet again on Virgil – and on them all. TinTin had been special to each of them.

As he moved into the room, Virgil found himself thinking hard at his older brother, praying that the almost psychic bond between them that had been joked about for years was real, and that Scott could hear him. 'Don't screw this up Scott. Don't land on him. Don't ask him why he hasn't contacted us. Treat him like the adult that he is.'

Virgil suddenly realized as he gazed at Alan, exactly how much depended on this. They could lose Alan forever in this moment, or make a start towards a reconciliation. Alan was in a delicate place where his family was concerned. They could blow this big time. And Jeff would kill them if they did. His thoughts were interrupted as his older brother spoke.

"Hi Alan," Scott began easily, a smile on his always mobile face. "Good to see you. Hope you don't mind us dropping in like this. We found Kenny, he gave us the cardkey," Scott held it up, then dropped it onto the desk, moving to lean against it casually.

Virgil grinned at his younger brother, and leaned back against the now closed door, arms crossed. "Good to see you, Al. You look good."

Alan made no move to close the gap between them, but sank back on the high stool behind him. He looked a shade puzzled. "You guys get some shore leave or something? Not like Dad to let his two crack pilots out together this far a-field, much less together," he commented, clearly not even aware of how that statement could be construed.

Virgil hid a flinch. Not good. There it was again. The two perfect older brothers. Virgil knew he'd never look at comments like that in quite the same light. He had to hand it to Scott. He just laughed.

"Yeah, pretty unusual, huh? No, Dad needed both of us to go to New York. Business." He shrugged. "We'd seen from your schedule that we weaseled out of Gordon that you were racing pretty close, so we timed it so we could come and watch." His eyes lit up. "Pretty impressive race today. We didn't get here early enough to see you in person, but we had good seats and could see most of it. Pretty terrific driving."

Virgil could see Alan relaxing slightly. Scott was doing a masterful job. His words were the truth, but twisted just slightly. Jeff's including the business trip came after they had announced they wanted to take a vacation together. He'd approved as long as they attended the business meeting. Neither brother had mentioned planning to see Alan.

"Thanks," Alan said with a quick smile.

"You've had a pretty incredible year so far," Scott was saying, masterfully drawing his little brother out with small talk, and staying away from any accusations.

Virgil's attention was suddenly caught by a niggling thought as he examined the work bench absently. His gaze sharpened and all thoughts vanished except for making sense of what he saw there. "Is this what I think it is?" he blurted suddenly.

Scott looked surprised, and Alan did as well until he realized what Virgil was so intent on. Virgil moved purposefully towards the bench, shoving Scott out of the way.

"You've figured it out?" Virgil looked at Alan alertly. He recognized a part of the racecar engine that he and Alan had been fiddling with improvements on since Alan's college days. They just had never been able to get it to work. It was pretty intricate and novel engineering. More science fiction than reality.

"Almost," Alan grinned. "We're pretty close."

"We?"

"Well, me," Alan conceded, turning so that he and Virgil were staring at the workbench together.

Within moments the awkwardness was gone and Virgil and Alan were leaning over the workbench, Alan explaining the intricacies of his improvements on the engine parts, and the fuel system in particular. Virgil was fascinated and began looking at the parts carefully and firing questions at his youngest brother. Alan answered readily.

Scott leaned back against the door watching the backs of the blond and chestnut brown heads. This felt right and normal. Scott knew Virgil was an outstanding engineer. What tended to be not as widely known was that Alan was just as good, with the potential to be even better than this older brother, as Virgil had told him in no uncertain terms many times.

It really was a shame that Alan had left college after finishing his degree (the result of much parent/elder brother coercion) and joined NASA. Alan probably should have gone on for an advanced degree instead. How much of his choice of direction was really his idea, and how much was unspoken family pressure was still open to interpretation. Scott wondered if Alan even knew.

Jeff would never have forced any of his sons in a direction that they didn't want to go. But IR was beginning, the need for another astronaut was great, and Alan had been so . . . unfocused in school. Jeff had been forced to step in and provide guidance for Alan, something he'd never needed to do with his other sons.

One more way to be different, Scott mused. Be an underachiever in a family over overachievers. Alan hadn't managed that too well though. He was just too bright, and cream always rose to the top regardless of the intent. Alan had been right near the top of his class, in spite of himself.

Scott pushed himself away from the door. Enough introspection. They were here, with Alan, for at least the time being. The hard part was over, the ice broken, and he intended to make the most of it. Besides, he was hungry.

He moved up behind his brothers and put a hand on each shoulder. Both jumped and turned in surprise to look at him, wearing equally startled expression as though they'd forgotten he was here. Probably had, he thought wryly.

"Can this wait? I'm hungry," he whined plaintively.

Both of his brothers grinned knowingly, well aware of his appetite.

"You've got a hollow leg," Alan said with a smile.

"Yeah, I can just see that you're wasting away," Virgil commented pointedly.

"I resemble that remark," Scott replied archly. "Well Alan? This is your neck of the woods – where do you recommend?"

Alan grinned again and proceeded to direct them to a nice, out of the way neighborhood pub. The place looked inviting and friendly, and Alan was apparently well known.

All three brothers enjoyed the evening thoroughly. Scott and Virgil were pleasantly surprised at Alan's taste in restaurant. The food was excellent and the atmosphere pleasant. After an ill-fated choice while Alan was in college consisting of raucous music, signed posters of race car drivers all over the walls, and nearly inedible food, the rest of the family always quietly made sure that Alan's choice of restaurant was usually ignored. Apparently, his tastes had markedly improved.

Scott finished the last bite of excellent apple pie (although not quite as good as Grandma's), and leaned back in satisfaction. He laughed to himself as he realized that Virgil and Alan were now sketching designs on the coasters, having used up all the napkins.

"Umm, I hate to break this up guys, but Virg and I have to be in New York for an early meeting, and I think you both won't leave until there are any coasters left."

Virgil looked at the clock in amazement. "One fifteen in the morning? You're kidding!" He looked in disappointment at the mass of napkins and coasters in front of him. "Call me when you test this?" he pleaded to Alan.

"Yep, will do," Alan laughed.

The two dropped Alan off at the garage as he requested and headed back towards the interstate.

"Nice job biting your tongue about dropping Al off at the garage," Virgil finally broke the silence with a grin. "You can't fool me, I know how hard that was for you."

"You know he's going to work on that design some more. It's nearly two in the morning for cripes sake, AND he drove a race today," Scott groused as he pulled onto the highway, heading for the airport. "He'll work until dawn, and you know it," Scott turned and glared a Virgil.

Virgil snickered and shrugged. "Like I said, nice job keeping your big mouth shut, papa."

Scott finally gave a reluctant grin. "You have no idea how hard it was."

"Oh, but I do," Virgil said, finally laughing out loud. "You just like bossing people around. That's why you make such a good field commander, and why you liked being an Air Force officer so much."

Scott couldn't even get irritated. He knew it was true. "Alan's growing up."

"Correction, Alan grew up a long time ago. We just took him for granted and didn't notice."

There was silence for a moment, then Scott said quietly, "I hope we started the rebuilding tonight. I think maybe we did."

Virgil looked into the dark night. "Me too, Scott, me too."

_TB TB TB TB TB _

"How did the meeting go?" Jeff asked, smiling a greeting at his two eldest sons as they entered the lounge.

"Great," Scott said after a momentary pause. "Here's the minutes and the contracts. We were able to negotiate a better price." He handed the packet over.

Jeff narrowed his eyes. Virgil was looking slightly shifty, and Scott had his poker face on. He accepted the packet and looked squarely at both men, right in the eye. "What?" He asked pointedly.

"Huh?" Scott looked puzzled. "What do you mean 'what'?" he asked innocently.

Virgil just swallowed hard. Nothing ever changed. Once your father, always your father, not matter how old you got.

"You two did something you know I won't like. I can tell by you're faces. Now spill it." His lips tightened. "Now what did you do?"

Scott drew himself up to his full height, looking incensed. "Give us a little more credit than . . ." He was stopped by Virgil's hand on his shoulder.

"We went to see Alan, Dad," he said quietly. "We didn't think you'd approve."

Jeff sat back, stunned. A myriad of emotions crossed his face. Fear, hope and a naked longing. He could think of all the things he wanted to say to them. He wanted to berate them for possibly upsetting the delicate balance and making the situation worse. It would take very little right now to cause Alan to back off from even his contacts with Gordon.

He knew Scott had been as much like a second father to Alan as a big brother. Alan would resent him the same way he would his father. And Scott would find it hard to change his habits. All it would take was the wrong word.

But he was also terribly worried. Penny's visit had relieved him that Alan hadn't turned to alcohol or drugs. But Alan had lost his wife. And he was trying to go through that alone. And that frightened Jeff more than he wanted to admit.

And, above all, Alan was his son. Loved unconditionally. He was an important part of the family, and Jeff missed him desperately. His courage, his loyalty, his ability to put others before him in a dangerous situation, his humor, and his inventiveness. How much he missed him . . . All Jeff wanted was a chance to start over with his youngest.

He stared for a moment longer, all of these thoughts flashing through his mind, as he looked at the two defiant men in front of him. They were all so stubborn, his sons – every last one of them. And he knew they had gotten it from him.

"How is he?" Jeff finally asked softly. "Is he alright?"

The signal given, Scott and Virgil dropped comfortably into chairs in front of their father and filled him in on their entire visit. They didn't leave out a word. To a worried father listening with rapt attention and hungry for any concrete news on his son, this was manna from heaven.


	4. Part IV Completion of the Exposition

**FUGUE**

**A Thunderbirds story in five parts**

By Spense

Note: This is TV Verse. Don't own them, not making money . . . etc.

Fugue:

**1:** a dreamlike state of altered consciousness that may last for hours or days **2:** a musical form consisting of a theme repeated a fifth above or a fourth below its first statement

_Music._ An imitative polyphonic composition in which a theme or themes are stated successively in all of the voices of the contrapuntal structure.

In music, a fugue is a type of piece written in counterpoint for several independent musical voices. A fugue begins with its subject (a brief musical theme) stated by one of the voices playing alone. A second voice then enters and plays the subject, while the first voice continues on with a contrapuntal accompaniment. Then the remaining voices similarly enter one by one. The remainder of the fugue further develops the material using all of the voices. (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

**PART FOUR**

**COMPLETION OF THE EXPOSITION**

The crash was unexpected, but then again, that was the way of these things. Nobody actually expects to pile a car into the wall of a racetrack. The really dumb thing about it was that it was a simple malfunction during a morning test run. Alan thought later that the stars must just be out to get him.

His season had been remarkable so far. He hadn't lost any of the edge. The media was toting his phenomenal talent. Alan knew better. It had more to do with hard work, attention to detail and pure dumb luck. And frankly, piloting space rockets. Speeds that cars reached were nothing compared to that. But he couldn't exactly say that to the media.

But still, things happened. A tire blew out just as Alan entered a curve at top speed. Right where an oil slick had been laid down by the previous driver. And that was all she wrote.

The next thing Alan knew, he was lying on the pavement, warmed by a bonfire consisting of his car burning merrily.

The first thing he really focused on was Kenny looking at him, worry in his face. Pat was alternating looking between Alan and the burning car, trying to decide which bothered him more. Alan's eyes traveled towards the light. Catching sight of the fire, he whispered, "Son of a . . . ."

Kenny grinned in relief. "Welcome back hotshot. Way to go!"

Alan's eyes traveled slowly back to Kenny's face, and managed to get out rather dryly, "Glad you approved of the show" before groaning as a hand was placed on his chest.

"Easy," the paramedic was saying.

Alan just grimaced at Kenny who laughed in sympathy before the jostling put his lights out again.

**_TB TB TB TB TB_**

Jeff Tracy scrambled out of the door of the lounge and ran down the hall to his suite, yelling for Scott. Scott appeared in the doorway of Jeff's sitting room as a result of the summons, followed in quick succession by Grandma and Virgil, both of whom had been in earshot.

"What!" Scott exclaimed in concern as they crowded into the doorway of the huge walk-in closet as his father was quickly pulling out luggage and tossing clothes into it.

"Prep the jet for me please. I need to leave right away," Jeff replied, packing as he spoke.

"Jeff, what's happened?" Josie asked, concerned.

"I just got a call from Kenny Malone. Alan was in an accident at the track. The car blew a tire and slammed into the wall," he answered tersely.

Josie's hand flew to her mouth in shock.

"Is he all right?" Virgil asked.

"Kenny doesn't know. He was conscious and relatively coherent for a couple of minutes after they got him out of the car, but then he was out again. He's on the way to the hospital now." Jeff paused, seeing them standing there. "Scott, MOVE!" Jeff commanded. "You know as much as I do."

"On my way," Scott didn't waste anymore time.

"I'm with you. I'll let John know so he can monitor the hospital, then I'll be there to help," Virgil said to Scott's moving back. At the wave of his older brother's hand in acknowledgement, he headed in the opposite direction towards the lounge.

"Here, let me help," Josie said, moving to help Jeff.

"Thanks Mother," Jeff said gratefully, as two sets of hands made the work go faster.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

"Kenny!" Jeff called to the familiar figure as he hurriedly entered the waiting room. "How's Alan?"

"Mr. Tracy!" Kenny handed him the cup of coffee that he'd just poured and moved to get another. He looked up with a smile. "He's going to be fine."

Jeff relaxed as though the current running through him had been switched off. "Thank heavens."

Kenny grinned. "I just found out myself. The doctor just left. Come on, sit down and I'll fill you in."

They settled into the chairs against the wall, and Jeff turned to the mechanic expectantly. Kenny obediently started talking. He'd experienced the powerful personality of Jefferson Tracy before.

"Alan's got a bad concussion. He's been going in and out of consciousness for the last couple of hours, and he's going to have one massive headache for awhile. He's also wrenched his back pretty good. He's badly bruised from the restraint harness, but it saved his life. He's going to be so sore that he'll hardly be able to move for awhile, but over all, he's really lucky."

"I'll say," Jeff breathed. "How long will he have to be in the hospital?"

Kenny shrugged. "It depends on how long it takes for him to really regain consciousness, and stay that way. The Doc said at least 24 hours from that point. Just to keep an eye on him. Then he can go home. Do you want to see him?"

Jeff grinned. "Thought you'd never ask."

**_TB TB TB TB TB_**

Alan woke up with a pounding headache. At least this time he knew where he was, he thought ruefully as he looked at the ceiling in the dim room. He'd been pretty fuzzy, if he really had woken up previously and hadn't just been dreaming.

He blinked, and the headache came crashing down. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose with a leaden arm, screwing up his nose and closing his eyes in an attempt to ease the hammering. "Shit," he muttered distinctly.

"Well, I'd say that pretty much sums it up," said a quiet voice with a hint of amusement from the side of his bed.

Alan turned his head in puzzlement at the familiar voice, wincing as he did so. Narrowing his eyes into slits against the pain, he said tentatively, "Dad?" as the blurred figure slowly came into focus as his smiling father.

Jeff nodded affirmation, and pitched his voice lower so as not to aggravate Alan's obviously pounding head. "I know I'm not exactly someone high on your list of visitors right now, but I had to make sure you were all right." He took a deep breath. "Regardless of everything that's happened, you're still my son."

"No, no, it's okay," Alan said absently, still not mentally tracking terribly well, moving his head again to look at the foot of his bed, trying to find a comfortable position in the dim room.

Jeff shifted his chair so he was comfortable within Alan's line of sight. "Kenny called me as soon as they carted you off."

"Ummm," Alan replied. "Have you seen my barbequed car yet?" he asked wryly.

"No, I haven't had the pleasure," Jeff grinned.

Alan reflected that this was possibly the first conversation they'd ever had as equals. He wasn't living under his father's roof, he wasn't beholden to him in any way, and he was making it just fine on his own. Jeff wasn't lecturing him, or telling him he'd done something stupid, or that he should be more careful. It was . . . novel, to say the least.

"When did you get here?" Alan asked tiredly.

"About sixteen hours ago. You've been in and out."

"Ummm," Alan muttered again. He was beginning to fade again, and wanted to go to sleep. But a thought did cross his mind. He was an adult, with responsibilities, and he needed to act like it. He had some things he needed to check on before he could fall into sleep again. "Is Kenny dealing with the car?"

"He's on it. He's been by several times as well," Jeff said quietly. "So has your second mechanic, I believe his name is Pat."

"Okay." Alan forced his mind to think. "Can you do me a favor?" At his father's immediate nod, he continued. "Get Kenny on the phone for me, please."

Jeff started to protest until he saw Alan's narrowing eyes. He relented immediately, reaching for the phone with severe misgivings. He was here on sufferance, and he knew it. Things with Alan were tenuous enough, and this was Alan's life. So, against his better judgment he got the chief mechanic on the phone.

"Kenny, it's Jeff Tracy."

Alan closed his eyes to try to ease his throbbing head. He listened to the one sided conversation, doing his best to track what his father was saying.

"Alan's awake. No, no, he's fine, aside from a major headache. He wants to talk to you. Yes, I told him you'd dealt with the car. No, he still wants to talk to you." There was a pause, then a gentle, "Alan?"

"Yeah, I'm awake." He didn't open his eyes, just reached blindly for the phone, hissing as he realized he was so sore that he could hardly hold up his arm. He barely managed to get the receiver up to his ear.

"Kenny?" He winced as his friend's voice reverberated in his ear. "Keep it down Kenny, please!" The volume lowered to acceptable levels.

"Geez Alan, what are you doing? How are you feeling?"

"Monster headache. And tired."

"I bet," Kenny answered sympathetically.

"How's the car?"

"Shish kabob, unfortunately. It'll take a lot of work."

"What was the cause?"

"Blown tire, oil slick. Just a really unfortunate accident."

"Oh man. What about the second car?"

"We're getting it up and going now. Rob's testing it. When you're ready to drive, it'll be ready to go."

"How's the . . ." Alan began before Kenny cut him off.

"Alan, enough. We'll talk later, when you feel better. This is the first time you've been coherent for almost 24 hours, so give it a rest, huh? And do me a favor, give your dad a break."

Alan was surprised. He'd talked to Kenny about the whole sordid mess. Not only over the last several months, but over the last several years! The only thing Kenny didn't know about Alan's life was International Rescue. And that was about it. Although several years older than him, Kenny had been his good friend for a very long time, right up there next to Gordon in the best friend department. To hear Kenny make that comment about his father was especially interesting given that he was firmly in Alan's corner. Aside from TinTin, Kenny had been the only other person he'd talked to regarding his decision to leave his father's 'business'. And then there was the fact that Kenny hadn't really ever forgiven Jeff for Alan's decision to leave racing in the first place. He'd never felt Jeff had given Alan enough credit for his ability.

Kenny continued. "He's been at your side the whole time you've been out, and he's been really, really worried. Just give him a chance, okay?"

"Okay," Alan said thoughtfully.

Kenny took advantage of the break. "I'll come see you this evening. I might even get to talk to you this time, if you're awake that is. You haven't been very good company over the last 24 hours."

Alan gave a startled bark of laughter, regretting it immediately as his head redoubled the pounding.

"Bye Alan," Kenny said decisively, and hung up the phone.

Jeff had been watching the play of expressions on Alan's face with interest. Alan had never had a very good poker face. Scott, the master of the expressionless face, usually creamed him when they played cards. Alan had always just worn his emotions out for all to see. Well, most of them anyway, Jeff thought ruefully, except the most important. He put that thought aside for the moment, the thoughtful expression on Alan's face right now was more intriguing.

Quietly, Jeff took the phone from Alan's limp fingers. Alan didn't even have enough strength to hand it to him. He knew he was fading fast, but there was one more thing. He decided to trust Kenny's judgment. It was usually pretty good.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son?" His father's tone was gentle.

Alan pried his eyes open with a great deal of effort. "Where are you staying?"

Jeff was surprised, to say the least. "I . . . I don't know. I hadn't thought about it. I'll just get a hotel nearby when they kick me out, I suppose."

"Nah, don't do that. You can stay at my place. Let Kenny know. He'll fix you up with a key." And that was all she wrote for Alan. He just couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and he slid into sleep without even knowing it, missing the unguarded expression of complete surprise on his father's face.

Jeff quietly hung up the phone, and sat back in his chair, his eyes studying his sleeping son thoughtfully. Now that was completely unexpected. Alan had never been one to think of details like that.

Jeff was a very intelligent man. He knew that his sons' upbringing, while as normal as he could possibly make it, was different from that of many other children. For one thing, they were extremely wealthy. And that did change things. They'd never had to struggle, or worry where their next meal would come from. The Tracy name opened doors to schools and careers that others worked all of their lives for even a chance to be considered for. On a smaller scale, just being able to walk into any hotel and get a luxury suite or a table at a five star restaurant was something his sons never even considered extraordinary. Jeff knew differently. The son of a Kansas wheat farmer, he'd known lean times and how hard it was to gain entry to the elite schools, restaurants and careers.

For Alan to even consider asking that question told Jeff that a great many things had changed within his youngest son. That he was taking responsibility for his life and those around him. That he was aware of the small things. Things like paying the power bill or the phone bill. Jeff decided then and there that he would take Alan up on his offer.

**_TB TB TB TB TB_**

Jeff let himself into Alan's apartment. He was tired and worn. It had been a very long 36 hours and he was looking forward to talking with his family on the island, and some sleep in a bed, not in a hard hospital chair. The doctor had been pleased with Alan's progress and planned to release him the next day. Kenny had finally just kicked Jeff out. He pointed out that Alan was going to be sleeping hard for awhile and that Jeff should get some sleep while he could.

He was surprised to see the great room of the spacious apartment empty except for boxes. Alan had lived here for quite awhile now, but still hadn't unpacked. Jeff felt a twinge of sadness which grew as he dropped his bags in the front hall and wandered around. He poked his head into one room which was completely empty of even boxes. The master bedroom, although furnished, looked neat, almost as though nobody lived there.

Jeff was surprised at the neatness. Alan had always been messy, more on the chaotic side. But this was completely different. Everything was put away, and nothing out just lying around. There were a couple of books on the nightstand, and a watch. The bureau was strewn with the normal miscellaneous things men always left on the top. Loose change in a dish, that kind of thing. And a large wedding portrait of Alan and TinTin.

Groaning, Jeff turned away. His son was certainly different from him in that respect. Jeff still had trouble having pictures of Lucy around. However, now he genuinely regretted not allowing his sons to have the likeness. That hadn't been fair of him at all.

Jeff meandered out into the main living area again. Boxes were stacked up in the center of the large, beautifully proportioned room. The warm wood of the fireplace mantle glowed as the evening sun hit it, and the moldings of the lovely room cast interesting shadows. What a gorgeous room.

Jeff absently fingered the boxes, allowing himself to feel the sadness of his son's situation yet again. He spotted a pile of books near a wall next to an open box. Dust coated the top of them, shinning in the late afternoon sun. Jeff's heart constricted as he recognized the book on space that John had gotten for Alan on his admission to the NASA. John had been so thrilled, and had enjoyed visiting the remaining living astronauts, chatting with them and getting their autographs. Jeff smiled to himself. Yet another example of money and a name opening doors. He didn't think John had realized how easily he'd gained access to the famous men. But Jeff was one of their elite, and John was the son of one of their own as well as an astronaut in his own right.

That had been a good time. Alan had done very well in NASA. Jeff was so proud of his accomplishments with that organization. It was readily apparent that Alan would have done great things had he stayed with the program. It was as though he'd finally found something he liked. Jeff had never seen him apply himself like he had while he was at NASA. Alan had been cocky, yes, but most astronauts loved the adrenaline rush. Jeff knew he did. IR had started, and Jeff had had all of his sons home with him, sharing his dream, each in their own field of interest.

Jeff turned to move on, and was caught by a metallic glint, deep in the shadows of a partially opened box. Curious, he opened the lid. His heart sank as he recognized all the wrapped birthday presents the family had given to Alan. They were still unopened.

His eyes closed for a moment in pain, Jeff remembered that box well. It had sat, open on his desk while he loaded the wrapped packages he and his mother had put away. Gordon had walked in and asked what he was doing. Jeff had told him.

"_Wait a minute, okay?" Gordon said quickly, dashed out of the room. _

_Jeff and Grandma looked at each other in confusion, then Jeff shrugged and continued to carefully load the box._

_Gordon was back in record time, his arms full of packages. "These are from me and a couple are from . . . TinTin." He paused for a moment, swallowing hard. "She asked me to hide them for her because Alan's such a snoop when it came to presents."_

"_Oh, Gordon," Grandma breathed, startled, covering her mouth with her hands in shock, her eyes filling._

_Jeff was silent, stunned._

_Gordon continued, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "Um, she'd wrapped them, but hadn't put any cards on them. I added a couple so Alan would know who they were from and what had happened."_

_Jeff just stared, thinking hard. "Do you know what they are?"_

_Gordon looked startled, "No, she didn't tell me." Jeff's reason for asking suddenly crystallized. "I know what you're thinking, Dad. Should we send them?" Gordon's voice turned hard. "Yes! We have to. They are private gifts from TinTin to Alan. We have no right to step in. It's not our decision."_

_With an understanding look at his son, Jeff answered quietly. "You're right of course, Gordon, but Alan shouldn't be alone when he opens those. We don't know what she was giving him. Gifts for the baby? Maybe . . ."_

_Gordon was startled again. He hadn't thought of that. Good lord. But then he was resolute. "I see what you mean, Father, but it still isn't our decision. Alan's a lot stronger than you give him credit for. He'll weather this. We can't withhold a piece of their private relationship."_

"_He's right Jeff," Grandma said quietly._

_Jeff gave in against his better judgment. He didn't agree, and he was worried. Gordon hadn't lost a wife. Because Jeff had, he understood better than most. And Alan had also lost a child. Jeff just couldn't fathom how bad that must be. He finally nodded, and stepped back, allowing Gordon to carefully place the packages in the box._

"_Leave this open for awhile, Dad. I know the others have things to add."_

And they had. One by one, more packages had been added, cards with private messages attached, until the box had been crammed full. Jeff had closed it and sent it off with severe misgivings. And here it was.

Jeff felt such conflicting emotions. A rush of gratitude that Alan hadn't been alone when he'd opened TinTin's gifts. That was going to require support, no matter who it was, or how strong. At the same time, deep sadness that the gifts were still untouched. They were such a tangible sign about how hard Alan was trying to cut himself off.

He forced himself to walk away from the boxes, to keep from straightening the books. He'd always been a man of action, and decisiveness. To just step back and allow his son this kind of space was so difficult for him. He wanted to be here, helping him through this. And physically, Alan deserved a home. Someplace he enjoyed coming back to. Not just a space with boxes piled in it.

Resolution flowed through him. But he was here. Right now. Andfate (and his own willingness to jump into the fire, so to speak) had granted him a second chance. He fully intended to make use of it. Not by telling Alan what to do, how to handle his life or his grief, but by just being there. And by learning who his son really was. What he thought, how he felt, his ideas on things.

Alan had grown up. No questions. Now it was time for Jeff to get to know his adult son. If Alan would allow him that.

**_TB TB TB TB TB_**

Three days later, Jeff leaned back against the workbench, and watched with a slight smile as Alan, Pat and another man he didn't know leaned over the car. All three heads were down, but the voices were loud and arguing. Alan seemed to be holding sway. No surprise there!

Alan was recovering nicely, and had shown no signs of throwing his father out. Just before he'd been released from the hospital, Alan had asked his father to stay with him a few days longer. His doctor had told him that he could go home, on the provision that he wouldn't be alone. Alan hadn't wanted to ask Kenny or Pat, as they had homes of their own.

Jeff was touched, pleased that Alan was comfortable enough with him to ask him, and agreed at once. What he hadn't mentioned was that he had no intention of going home right yet and had planned to move to a nearby hotel. No need to tell Alan that. Their relationship was just still too much of a minefield.

So Jeff was sleeping in the empty spare bedroom on a newly purchased bed. He and Alan were circling each other carefully, but the situation wasn't nearly ascharged with tension as Jeff had thought it would be. His son had clearly changed, and Jeff liked the differences. And Jeff himself had changed as well, he was under no illusions there. He'd had a lot to think about and come to terms with following that scene in the hospital so many months ago.

Kenny wandered up to Jeff and joined him, leaning back against the workbench watching the scene.

"Hey, Mr. Tracy."

Jeff smiled back, acknowledging the mechanic.

"What's so funny?" Kenny asked, curious at the elder Tracy's amused expression.

"That." Jeff jutted his jaw towards the powwow going on in front of the car. "Alan's still so stiff and sore, and he's still got a major headache. He's sleeping more than he's not, yet here he is, arguing about the car."

"Kind of like you, huh?" Kenny said with a grin.

Jeff laughed out loud, startled. "I'll have to admit to that, yes. And a lot like his eldest brother."

"Scott?"

"Scott," Jeff confirmed.

"Still stiff huh?" Kenny said thoughtfully, after a moment.

"Yes, but better every day."

"Good."

The two lapsed into silence again, watching the tableau in front of them with amusement. The three men were upright now, clearly intense about something, Alan gesturing into the car for good measure.

"Mr. Tracy," Kenny began hesitantly, "Can I tell you something?"

Jeff looked at the mechanic in surprise. "Of course."

Kenny was silent again for a moment. "I'm not sure how to say this." He paused again. "Don't . . . give up on Alan."

"What on earth do you mean?" Jeff couldn't fathom what he was trying to say.

Kenny looked down and sighed, then checked to make sure Alan was still occupied across the garage. Meeting Jeff's eye once more, he continued. "Alan is doing really well at racing."

Jeff nodded. That was obvious.

"I don't know what's changed from the last time he was racing, but now, somehow, it's not enough. He loves it, oh, sure. But the other guys thrive on the adrenaline high. But for Alan, oh, I don't know, it's like it isn't . . . enough."

"You mean he's self-destructive?" Jeff asked in shock, a horrible fear growing in the pit of his stomach.

Kenny, surprised and horrified at the thought, exclaimed, "No! Nothing like that."

Jeff's relief was palpable.

"No," Kenny said again, more thoughtfully. "It's like racing, isn't, well, satisfying enough anymore. Whether it was working for you, or going through the NASA program, I don't know, but something has changed. Whatever he was doing between the times he's raced was clearly more fulfilling to him."

Jeff reflected that there was probably a real truth in that statement as he considered the magnificent red rocket that was Thunderbird Three. "Interesting," Jeff muttered reflectively. Then, to Kenny, "Why are you telling me this?"

Kenny took a deep breath. "Because I don't think he's going to want to race for the rest of his career. I don't think it's going to be enough for him. I think it's been a really good break for him after TinTin's death, and has given him some breathing space. And frankly, I think he'll always race in some capacity or another, as a hobby, a break from what's really important to him. I expect to always see him on the track, but not full time."

Jeff heard the condemning, unspoken, 'if you'll let him' in the mechanic's tone as Kenny continued. "And if working for you was what was so fulfilling to him, I just don't want you to close that door."

He thought about that statement for awhile, hope rising for the first time. He knew that Kenny had always been somewhat less than enthusiastic about him. Mainly because of the friction between father and son over the racing. But here was Kenny telling him something that was completely contrary to the mechanic's own wishes. Then, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Alan is much more than just a part of this team to me. He's a very good friend, and has been for a very long time, and I just want the best for him."

Jeff clamped a hand on the mechanic's shoulder and smiled at him in thanks. "Then we both want the same thing. Alan's choices are his own to make. And he can always come back to working for me, if that's what he wants. I'll be delighted, no, thrilled, to have him back." Jeff thought how good that would be. They'd all be whole again, and he wanted that desperately. But he was realistic. But if that could happen, if it might . . . "But it will be different – Alan will have far more control. And yes, I agree with you, whatever he does in the future, I believe as well that he'll always race." Unspoken, but clearly communicated – 'and he'll have my support to do so.'

Kenny gave a relieved laugh – message received. He began to say something more but was distracted by Alan hailing him from the car. "Excuse me, Mr. Tracy."

Jeff waved him off with a smile, and reflected on that amazing conversation. The seed of hope that had been planted began to grow. In the months that Alan had been gone, he'd obviously matured. Or rather, had the chance to show the person he'd become in the last few years, without family pressure stifling him. In all reality, Alan had probably changed long ago, but family perception, and therefore how they treated him, had not.

Jeff thought again about Kenny's comments. He knew exactly what Alan was missing. The rush from racecars was nothing compared to rescuing people and piloting rockets. No, racing wouldn't be enough, long term. Maybe it would have if he had TinTin still at his side, and a growing family. But, not now.

What Kenny had just told him made Jeff realized that there was a chance, small still, but there, that Alan may want to come back. Come home. But that was Alan's choice. All Jeff could do was make sure Alan knew the door was open, if and when.

Alan had been a constant source of amazement to him over the last few days. Even as lousy as he'd been feeling, his son had been on the phone to the various members of his racing team and his sponsors, talking, reassuring, and basically taking care of the people beholden to him. The team was large, and Alan was the face on the front of it, the most public, being the main driver. Therefore, when Alan had an accident, the public speculation was huge, and Alan needed to be able to handle it. Which he was doing. Beautifully.

Gone was the edginess, the chip on his shoulder, the constant need to prove himself. In it's place was a mature young man, capable and responsible. Jeff liked this man very much. What had made up Alan his whole life, the impetuousness, the drive, and the decisiveness, were still there. But they were tempered and refined by a sense of responsibility. Jeff was very, very impressed.

Now, it was time to tell his son that.

**_TB TB TB TB TB_**

"Alan, have you ever considered buying some furniture for this place?"

Alan laughed as he helped himself to more Chinese takeout. They'd been late coming back from the track and Alan had just wanted to get home. He felt tons better, but at times it caught up with him pretty quick. Tonight was one of those nights. So here he and Jeff were, sitting at the bar in his kitchen, eating takeout.

"Yes, just hadn't gotten that far."

"Well, you're still on medical leave. How about we go shopping tomorrow?" Jeff commented. "It's always easier with two."

Alan thought about that for a moment. He hadn't really wanted his father involved in picking out his furniture. But the more he thought about it, he decided he'd be able to handle it. He and his father had gotten along pretty well the last couple of days. They hadn't talked about anything controversial, and Jeff had let him steer the course. He could stand up to his father. He was going to buy what he wanted, though. Not what Dad thought was appropriate.

"Sure, sounds great."

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

Furniture shopping was an interesting experience for both men. Not because of the furniture, but because of the undercurrents between the two. Jeff purposefully stayed back until he saw the type of things that Alan was looking at. It was an interesting window into his son's mind and tastes. Then, when he was clear on what Alan was looking for, Jeff began to make suggestions. He was pleased to notice that Alan either accepted or rejected based on what he liked, not on what would please his father.

Once, Jeff pointed out a stained glass lamp with a shade copied from a design by Frank Lloyd Wright, done in gold and brown, with accents in shades of navy blue and dark green. Alan was immediately drawn to it. Then he stopped and looked at his father, quizzically.

"I never would have seen this as something you would pick out, Dad. I thought your tastes ran more towards oriental."

"They do," Jeff said with a smile. "But yours seem to run more to the craftsman era from what I see you looking at. This lamp is a good fit."

Alan laughed. "You're right. I really like it." He looked at the salesperson. "I'll take it."

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

Jeff really had to admire Alan's taste as he looked at the fully furnished apartment a few days later. No, it wasn't Jeff's taste. As Alan had commented, his ran more towards the oriental. No, this was the first time Alan had truly chosen what he wanted. Not made do with castoffs, or agreeing with TinTin's choices. Jeff realized that he'd never seen what Alan really preferred. It was an interesting view.

Alan really did like the craftsman style as well as the mission style. The furniture he'd chosen was a combination of both, and was substantial, but with simple lines, and made with lots of warm wood. The fabrics were simple and masculine, navy leather, and deep plaids in navy, burgundy and hunter green. The rooms were warm and inviting, but utilitarian and comfortable. His choices in artwork would have pleased Virgil as well. Surprisingly, there weren't any racing prints. Interestingly enough, what he had chosen were photographs. Most were very sparse – simple pictures of heavily wooded forests or rugged mountains. The deep colors of green foliage or autumn leaves blended in with the furniture.

"Well, do you want to help me unpack, or do you just want to sit, have a drink, and watch me work?" Alan asked, grinning, as he came out of his bedroom and gestured to the pile of boxes now stacked again the kitchen bar.

"Oh, I'll help unpack. Can't let the injured do all of the work."

"Yeah, but injured or not, I can still outdo the aged," Alan grinned back.

"Ha!" Jeff snorted, taking up the challenge, and the two of them got to work.

Jeff had made sure that the box with the birthday gifts was at the bottom of the pile. He wanted to make sure they had lots of time when they got to that particular box. He had a feeling that situation might get a little volatile at that point. He wanted to make sure the heavy work was done if he was going to get tossed out on his ear. There certainly was that distinct possibility.

The two made quick work of the unpacking. Jeff watched covertly as Alan took his time with some objects, obviously remembering and thinking. They were nearly finished when he heard Alan's slight indrawn breath. And he knew better than to comment when Alan turned his back for a moment, shoulders tense, then turned back and silently placed a stunning glass figure of a race car on the mantle. It wasn't something Jeff recognized. He looked at it a bit closer. The detail was amazing. The cuts in the glass were superb and truly marvelous, and the soft coloring almost like watercolor. It was a replica of Alan's own car from his early racing days. The one that he and Virgil had originally designed. This was no trophy, it was clearly custom work. Obviously commissioned by somebody.

Alan saw his father's gaze. "TinTin had it made. It was her wedding present to me," he said shortly. And it was her tangible promise to me that we would live our life together as we saw fit, he thought.

Jeff's throat closed. TinTin and Kyrano didn't have a lot of money. Oh, Jeff paid Kyrano well, and TinTin as well for her work with IR. But they weren't wealthy like the Tracy family. They had lived in style at the island, but it was Tracy money, not their own. He had known TinTin well enough to know that she had saved her money for a long time in order to be able to afford this kind of custom artwork.

"Oh, Alan," he breathed softly, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Where was his mother when he needed her. She'd know what to say. That seemed to be a woman's prerogative.

Alan gave his father a shaky smile, and changed the subject. "So what do we have left?"

"Just a couple more boxes." Jeff hesitated. "Maybe . . . now is the time for this one." He motioned to the box of birthday presents, which had been sitting like the metaphorical elephant in the room. Both men knew what was in the box, and they both had been avoiding it.

Alan stared at it like as though a cobra were contained inside, then visibly steeled his resolve. "I guess." But he made no move towards it.

Jeff sadly turned to get the box. Alan was the same in this as he'd always been. Trying to bluster through and prove to his father that he was strong. Jeff knew that. Although this kind of thing would be hard on anybody – strong or not.

He set the box down on the floor in front of couch. Alan still hadn't found a coffee table that he liked, and they'd left that for another day. The floor would do for now. Jeff sat on the couch, leaning back, feigning relaxation. Alan sat on the footstool in front of the couch, and rubbed his hands nervously on his thighs.

"Well, let's see what's here," he said, trying to appear composed.

Jeff just smiled, one arm draped casually over the back of the couch, trying not to crowd his son.

As luck would have it, Alan started with a package from Gordon. Inside was a model replica of Thunderbird One – painted red, with orange dots. Alan burst out laughing, and read the accompanying card. "Thunderbird One can run, but she can't hide. Three and Four can beat her by a mile".

As Alan snickered, Jeff snorted. "I seriously doubt Scott ever saw that model, or it wouldn't be here now."

"No, I doubt he did either. He'd have confiscated it, and pounded Gordon into the side of the real Thunderbird One."

"Or had Gordon scrubbing One until she shone," Jeff said laughing. "But Scott couldn't do anything if you opened it as a birthday gift. Clever, very clever." And he would have expected nothing less than that of his second youngest son.

"Actually, Gordon had once been joking about actually painting One this color scheme in one of his more loopier moments," Alan confided. "He thought it would be in great keeping for an April Fools joke. But it just wasn't nearly subtle enough for him."

"No, not nearly," Jeff agreed. Gordon's pranks didn't tend to be as obvious as that. On a whole, they were far more creative, and a whole lot harder to pin down. Actually, painting TB1 would have been more Alan's speed. He suddenly wondered who's idea the color scheme actually was. Then wondered how deep the inside joke really went. What if . . . they did seem to have an awful lot of extra red and orange paint on hand. Could they have really . . .? With an internal shudder, he decided he really didn't want to know all of the terrible two's deep, most innermost secrets.

That broke the ice, and the worst seemed to be over, as least as far as Alan was concerned. He enjoyed opening the rest of the gifts far more than he'd thought possible. As always, the gifts were generous, and ranged from thoughtful to funny. The cards all expressed how much they missed him, and how much each family member loved him. Alan could actually read them now, and appreciate the sentiments given the amount of time that had passed.

Alan also realized that this was the first time his father had been on hand when he'd opened all of his gifts. Usually the others all celebrated with Alan. Jeff usually brought his gifts to Alan a few days later. Alan would find them in his room, or in his workshop. He'd wished for this kind of attention for years. Now, he hadn't even noticed until this moment.

He grabbed another out of the box, and couldn't help noticing his father tense when he saw which package Alan had selected. Alan looked quizzically at his father, who just motioned for him to continue.

The envelope containing the card was one of those that was blank of any writing. Alan shrugged and broke the seal. When he read Gordon's message containing the identification of the giver, Alan just stared. His mesmerized stare was broken by his father's soft voice.

"Open it, son. She meant for you to have it."

Alan looked at him blankly, his eyes huge, then stared again at the gift. With trembling hands, fighting hard to stay strong, he tore at the paper. Inside the large white jeweler's box was a baby's silver rattle. Engraved on it were the words 'Alan Shepard Tracy Jr'. A note attached, written in TinTin's elegant hand, was 'Happy Birthday, Daddy. It's a boy!'.

Alan did lose it then. He couldn't help it. Dropping the box on his lap, he hid his face in his hands, and felt the tears run unimpeded down his face. They hadn't found out the sex of the baby that Alan had known of. But TinTin obviously had. Her gift to him. And the loss, already unbearable, was even greater. The gulf in Alan just opened up wide, and the knowledge of what he'd lost was overwhelming.

He felt arms around him, and heard his father's deep, comforting voice, although in his maelstrom of grief, he couldn't make out what he was saying, and didn't really care.

The depth of his release was cathartic. As he held his son, Jeff wondered if Alan had ever given into the grief over all of this time, or had just been using his anger to propel him through day to day living.Alanwould be better for this, and Jeff was glad he was here.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

That night was a turning point for both men. Alan's release left him feeling shaky, but better than he had in months. The floodgates were open, and Alan and Jeff talked for hours. About matters they'd never touched on before in their lives. Alan's feelings about his mother and his childhood and what he'd said in the hospital. Jeff, talking about his soul-searching over the last several months, admitting where he'd been wrong, talking about wanting to start again.

Hard conversations? Yes, most definitely. Both were men who wanted control. One, a stallion reigning supreme, another, young, jockeying for position. But for the first time, they spoke with civility, as adults. Alan was candid without being defensive, and Jeff, treating Alan's opinions and feelings with respect, and the courtesy he'd extend to another adult, not laying down boundaries or educating as he would a child.

It was a start, and both men felt they'd covered a lot of constructive ground. They finally retired to bed at close to three in the morning. Both were exhausted, but very, very satisfied.

_**TB TB TB TB TB **_

The day Jeff was planning to leave, he stayed back at the apartment to pack while Alan attended a meeting with the race team. Alan was back driving, and they were planning to go on the road in the next few days and his schedule was getting frantic. Jeff had decided he had his own responsibilities as well and it was time to get home.

Alan and his father had planned to have lunch at the apartment just before Jeff left. One last moment for the two of them. This was fine with Jeff. He had a surprise planned. His timing was perfect. Alan was unlocking the door as Jeff had finish, just sitting down in one of the new chairs in the now beautifully furnished apartment.

"Hey Dad! Sorry I'm late. The meeting went longer than I expected."

"No problem Alan. Why don't you come over here for a moment?"

Alan made his way over towards his father, dropping the bags with lunch on the kitchen bar. "Sure, why?" Then he stopped in surprise and gave a low whistle.

"Do you like it?" Jeff asked, grinning.

Alan just stared, bemused. A coffee table sat in the center of room. It was a stunning piece of furniture. The simple but elegant lines, the different inlaid woods, and the hand carved, beaded wood trim showed off the wood to great advantage. The table all but glowed in the sunlit room. It was exactly what Alan had been looking for, he realized. Something simple, yet a focal point for the room.

Neither Alan nor Jeff were particularly into furniture. Like most men, they tended to use what was available. But the time spent with his son had showed Jeff that his son's taste was very different from his own, and he'd gotten a pretty good sense of it. And one afternoon, while Alan was busy, he'd come across the table, and it had just said 'Alan' to him. And from the look on his son's face, he'd gotten it right.

"It's amazing Dad. The wood is just incredible," Alan said feelingly, his throat closing. He ran his hand across the silken surface. This was certainly not his father's style. That Jeff had understood how much Alan would like it told him how much his father had changed. How much he'd understood over the course of this visit.

"The table is handmade by an Alaskan artist named Davis. The pieces in the gallery were just beautiful. They told me that they can hardly keep them in the store." Jeff smiled. "It just looked like you."

"Thank you," Alan said sincerely. "That just seems so inadequate," he finished, amazed, as he ran his eyes over the lines of the table again.

"Alan, I just wanted you to have something tangible to remember this visit." Jeff waited until his son had straightened and met his gaze. "We've both changed a great deal over this last year. For the better I think. I feel I've gotten to know you over this visit as I never have before. Too bad it took a wrecked car to get us together again."

Alan snickered agreement. He couldn't help it. Stubborn was a word that described both of them quite well.

Jeff smiled as the levity helped lighten the mood. "I . . . appreciate and admire who you have become. The promise you held as a child has been so aptly fulfilled. I'm so very proud of you. Of everything you've accomplished. Of just who you are. I want you to know that." He took a deep breath and continued.

"Over the last several months I've thought many times of how much I'd give to be able to start over with you, and I think I've made a start with this visit. I'm glad you've allowed me that chance."

Jeff gazed at his son as he stood in front of him, separated by the table that was a tangible sign of his feelings. Proud of the young man who stood listening patiently and attentively. Self-confidently. He liked this person. Not just because he was his son. But because of who he'd become. Responsible. Brave. Caring to the people around him. This unknown side of the son he thought he'd known so well, but apparently hadn't.

"You'll be happy to know that I've listened to your brothers with a new ear as well. Making sure that I don't take them for granted the way I apparently did you. I'm not perfect, I never will be. I'll always be driven and probably overbearing." He smiled at Alan's grin. They both knew it was true. It was just who he was.

"But I can learn from my mistakes if I'm given a chance." He paused and gathered himself to continue while Alan stayed silent, giving him time. "What I'm trying to say, and not very well at that, is that whatever you want to do, I'll support you. I'd dearly love to have you home again, piloting Thunderbird Three and working side by side with me on International Rescue, but I have to concede that I may have destroyed any chance of that. But one way or another, should you choose to come home, I want you to feel able to do that and know that things will change – for the better. If your way is a different path, then so be it. I'll never try to discourage you, but will always support you in whatever way needed. But please, PLEASE don't shut me out of your life. I love you too much. You know what it's like to lose a son. Please don't put me through that as well."

Alan blinked at that. He'd never thought about what his leaving might have done to his father. He supposed he should have known how much his father had grieved for him. All of the Tracy sons knew how much their father loved them. But Alan knew his course had been the right one. They had never spent time like this before, nor would they have, in all probability. Time together as equals, and surprisingly, as friends.

He knew he couldn't promise to come back to IR. He had a life now, and one he liked. A life that was important to him. But this time spent with his father, just the two of them, had shown him that Jeff had changed. His father had certainly shown him that he'd heard what Alan had said in the hospital that horrible afternoon. Alan still wasn't completely convinced, but he knew that he did need to meet him halfway.

Finally he said thoughtfully, "I don't know that I can ever come back to IR. There are too many memories there. Both good and bad. And I'll always be the little brother." Pausing regretfully for a moment, he said, "I'm sorry, but I can't come back." He looked down for a moment, then looked again at his father's disappointed face. "But I can promise you this. I won't shut you out. I'll keep in touch."

Jeff smiled gently, letting his disappointment go. "And come home from time to time for a visit?"

Alan laughed knowingly. His father hadn't gotten where he had in life without pushing. A leopard didn't change it spots, but he could deal with it now. "Yes, I'll come home occasionally when I'm ready. But I'm not yet."

"That's fair. Your brothers will be thrilled to talk to you. But do me a favor. Call John. Please! He's really irritated that he's the only one who hasn't talked to you, and Virgil and Scott aren't making it easy on him. He's been rotten to try and live with. Though granted, Scott and Virgil did kind of just muscle their way in. Typical," he growled, much to Alan's amusement. Jeff continued. "I assume you've been talking regularly to Grandma all along."

Alan's face colored in answer. Jeff smiled and moved over to his son's side and gave him a hug. "That's okay. Just don't cut us off. You're going through a hard time in your life. I've had some experience there, and I'm working on letting go myself. Call me if you need me. Call me even if you don't need me, just to say hello."

Alan returned the embrace gratefully. As they separated, he said, "You're on Dad." Not sure why, considering he had a perfect opportunity, Alan didn't mention his genealogy project. Somehow, that was between him and his mom.

"Good," Jeff said gently, in relief. "So, how about we break in your new table by eating lunch on it?" he said, changing the subject to safer ground.

"You're on!" Alan grinned, and let his father grab the lunch sacks while he examined his new piece of furniture.


	5. Part V Finale'

**FUGUE**

**A Thunderbirds story in five parts**

By Spense

**Disclaimer**: This is TV Verse. Don't own them, not making money . . . etc.

**Note:** This chapter owes a special, huge thank you to Boomercat. There were two sections I was having difficulty with and her expertise on technical information, and continuous questions of 'why', then assistance in answering those questions were of immeasurable help. Thanks Boomer!

Fugue:

**1:** a dreamlike state of altered consciousness that may last for hours or days **2:** a musical form consisting of a theme repeated a fifth above or a fourth below its first statement

_Music._ An imitative polyphonic composition in which a theme or themes are stated successively in all of the voices of the contrapuntal structure.

In music, a fugue is a type of piece written in counterpoint for several independent musical voices. A fugue begins with its subject (a brief musical theme) stated by one of the voices playing alone. A second voice then enters and plays the subject, while the first voice continues on with a contrapuntal accompaniment. Then the remaining voices similarly enter one by one. The remainder of the fugue further develops the material using all of the voices. (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

_**PART FIVE**_

_**FINALE'**_

**TONAL ANSWER**

Alan's hands paused on the keyboard. He stared at the computer screen in satisfaction. Finally. He had his uncle's address. David Evans. Man, had this guy been hard to track down.

His fingers tapping the desk in his study absently as he looked at the screen, Alan shook his head. Why hadn't he ever heard of the man? This guy had sure done his level best to drop off the face of the earth. The address Alan had for him showed him living in Alaska, off the coast of the Bering Sea in a little place called Scammon Bay, population of about 500. He'd apparently been there for years.

Alan's head tilted in an unconscious imitation of his eldest brother, as he mused over the facts. David Evans was his mother's elder brother by 4 years. He'd fallen off the edge of the world a year or so after his sister married – right after his parents' car accident. Nothing much on him before that, either. The man just seemed to live a really quiet life.

Alan had performed several searches to check for any kind of criminal background. There was nothing. He'd also conned Gordon into letting him use TB 5's main computer a few weeks back. Gordon was pretty easy to manipulate right now since he still felt badly about betraying Alan to the rest of their family. Alan was not above taking advantage of that fact although he'd forgiven Gordon before they'd finished the conversation during which his brother had confessed. All was fair when you were the youngest of five brothers – one learned to milk good fortune for all it was worth when it came your way. He hadn't even needed to tell Gordon what he needed the computer for. Guilt was a wonderful thing.

From the link to TB 5, Alan could hack into anything, and he did – ruthlessly – looking for what he wanted. And what he had found was the address for David Evans. And not a lot else.

He leaned back, staring at the screen. This man was his uncle. An uncle to all five brothers. And Alan had never heard of him. He wondered why. Was he the black sheep of the family? A crook who'd just never been caught? Had he had a falling out with his family? Alan knew how easily that could happen. Would he even be interested in speaking with Alan?

Suddenly Alan realized that he was going to contact David Evans. He hadn't even realized he'd been thinking along those lines, but now, yeah, he wanted to. This man was a link to his mother. And he was family himself. He'd probably be smart to take somebody along, like Gordon.

Alan halted that line of thinking, right there. No, he didn't want any other family along. He didn't need protection. He could take care of himself. He was beginning to feel like a gerbil on an exercise wheel. His thoughts just wouldn't quit. Before he could talk himself out of it, he picked up the phone and dialed the phone number listed.

A deep voice answered with a terse 'Dakota's'.

Alan took a deep breath. "I'm trying to reach David Evans."

"David doesn't have a phone. I can take a message. I'll give it to him when he comes into town."

Alan thought a moment and decided to leave a message. Hopefully David Evans would call him back.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

Alan stepped off the small plane and onto the rutted tarmac of the land strip at Scammon Bay, Alaska with severe trepidation. What the hell was he doing here? This man had never contacted his family. Well, at least that he was aware of, Alan amended. Jeff had never mentioned him, but that didn't prove much. His father didn't even mention his beloved wife if he could help it.

David Evans had relayed a message through Jeb Dakota, owner of the general store in Scammon Bay, and apparently the owner of a phone used by those who lived outside town. David said to 'come on up if he felt like it, and stay as long as he wanted', and to let Jeb know when to expect him.

Alan had just told Kenny he was going to take a short vacation. He and Kenny had figured out a suitable date for Alan to be away, and off he'd gone, to the immense relief of the second mechanic, Pat. Pat was glad to be able to get the car all to himself without Alan 'mucking about' as he succinctly put it. To Pat, the car was a living woman, whom Alan mistreated every time he drove it. Alan left snickering, reminded strongly of Scott, Virgil and Gordon and their respective Thunderbirds. He conveniently forgot how he felt about Thunderbird Three.

Alan looked around the windswept, barren landscape wondering how he was going to recognize his uncle. For the hundredth time, he thought he was probably madness personified. If his brothers ever found out he'd come to the godforsaken top of the world without telling anybody in order to meet a stranger (worse yet, a relative!), they'd yell at him until he was deaf. And he would deserve every minute of it. Stupid, Alan had to agree. And had thought about it all the way on the commercial flight to Anchorage, then more on the chartered small plane out to this tiny village on the coast of the Bering Sea. He was certifiable, that was for sure.

All thoughts stopped instantly as Alan's eyes lit on a man walking towards him. It was John. No, it was John with Virgil's coloring! It was truly uncanny. Alan had always been told that Virgil looked like their mother. He couldn't help but stare.

The man grinned, then called, "You must be Alan Tracy."

Alan called back. "Yep. That's me." As the man got within normal speaking range, he added sheepishly with a smile, "Sorry for staring. It's just that, you look like two of my brothers – combined." Alan could see that he had a slightly thicker build than John. A combination of nature and age. But the smile was all John's.

David commented, "I thought the same when I met your brother John."

Alan gave a visible start. "You met John?" He was back to staring again.

The bass voice was surprising coming from this man. He kept expecting John or even Virgil's tenor range. "Yes, John came to see me about three years ago."

Speechlessness was not usually a part of Alan's character, but this time, he just didn't know what to say. The world was tipping on its axis and he was powerless to stop it.

David Evans was next to Alan now, and reached for his duffle bag. Alan was too shell-shocked to stop him, frozen with surprise.

His uncle was a surprise in more ways than one. He had the weathered look of somebody who had lived in the elements for many years, but was more outgoing than Alan had expected.

David took pity on him, clamping a hand on his shoulder. "I did ask John not to mention me. I tend to be somewhat reclusive. Come on, I'll explain."

Alan followed with a dutiful obedience that would have shocked his family had they been present to witness it.

Once underway in a heavy-duty truck, and bouncing their way out of the small town up towards the hills, David continued speaking.

"I'm assuming that you wanted to talk to me about my side of the family." He looked sideways at Alan for confirmation. At Alan's nod, he continued. "I've always preferred to live alone. John looked me up a few years back, and I was glad to speak with him. He stayed with me about a week. I enjoyed him a lot. But I've always been a loner, and am not much for company. But if somebody takes the time to try to find me as hard as I've managed to bury myself, then I'm assuming that it's really me they are looking for, and I'm willing to be hospitable." He said with a pleasant smile. He then paused a moment, then added, 'Hang on."

Alan was glad he grabbed the handle on the ceiling of the truck above him, because David wrenched the wheel left, sending the truck lurching onto what looked to be not much more than a deer trail. They bounced all over the road, David not slowing the speed one iota. Alan reflected that he'd been told he was a reckless driver and that he lived life in the fast lane all of his life. But he didn't think he held anything on David Evans.

**_TB TB TB TB TB_**

Soon, the two were seated on a large deck in front of a substantial A-frame log home, built, as David explained, from the trees on the land. David had tossed Alan's duffle inside and led him straight to the deck. Alan could see why. The view was spectacular; trees, mountains and a nearby lake. And it was completely uninhabited.

After David got them both cups of coffee, he said congenially, "You don't talk much, do you Alan?"

Alan gave a started burst of laughter. "Actually, my brothers always say that they can't shut me up. I'm just . . . surprised, I guess. I couldn't believe it when I found out there was a living relative on my mother's side."

David smiled. "That's my fault, I guess. I like living up here in the middle of nowhere. I get involved in my work and forget there is an outside world. Time gets away from me. So what brings you here?"

Alan stared at his coffee for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He then looked David Evans in the eye. "I'm not sure what you know of my family. I guess I thought you probably didn't know anything, seeing as how I'd never heard of you. But since John visited, I think there's more going on than I know. As usual," he finished bitterly.

"Nah, not really," the older man said calmly. "John, like you, made a concerted effort to find me. To be honest, I've only met Jeff Tracy once. And that was at Luce's wedding. Anyway, go on," he encouraged.

Alan shook his head. "You really aren't what I expected. But then, I'm not really sure _what_ I expected." He exhaled strongly. "And I guess that's the problem. My mother died when I was born. I never knew her, obviously. And all anybody ever talked about was how wonderful she was. But never who she was – what she liked, how she talked, if she laughed a lot, you know, that kind of thing."

Encouraged by David's nod, he continued. "Dad never kept any pictures around, and he never talked about her. It just hurt him too much. Still does. So, I never knew anything," Alan finished with unconscious bitterness. "I figured maybe you could tell me about her, about your parents, about you. Just something about the Evans side of the family."

"Ah." David said quietly, and sat back. "I see. If Lucy died when you were born, you must be the youngest."

Alan nodded confirmation.

"Humm." David looked thoughtful. "Okay. First off, my family was close, but not as tight as yours." He laughed at the look on Alan's face. "Oh, John told me a great deal about your family. You all sound very close."

"Well, we were," Alan commented with a slight scowl.

"Tell me about it."

And to his surprise, Alan found himself doing just that. Spilling things to a complete stranger that he'd never told anyone but TinTin. But somehow it seemed right. Here they were, up in the middle of nowhere, not another living soul around, and his uncle, a person who wasn't connected to the Tracy family in any tangible way, truly interested in hearing what he had to say.

"Well, I can't say that surprises me, given what I know of Jeff Tracy and my sister," David said after he finished.

At Alan's surprise, he continued. "Like I said, I met your father only once. Lucy had met him in America while she was at school."

Alan nodded. He knew that.

"What you probably don't know was that he literally swept her off her feet. They fell in love, heart and soul. All I heard from Lucy was how wonderful, how amazing, how talented, and how terrific her fiancé was."

Alan was surprised. Sure sounded like what he heard of his mother.

David smiled slightly at Alan's expression. "By the time I met this paragon, I was ready to hate him. Lucy had given up everything she wanted to do in order to marry this superman. I guess he did fulfill all expectations, becoming an astronaut after all." He shrugged, then stated, "I don't know if you were aware that she was planning to go to medical school."

"No," Alan said in surprise, "No, I wasn't."

"Yep. My parents scrimped and saved for years in order to send her to the US to go to medical school. We weren't a wealthy family, just your basic middle class. So it was a real sacrifice on my parents' part to send her to America. But she met Jefferson Tracy her junior year of premed and was pregnant within a year. That changed everything – she dropped out so she could raise the baby while he continued with NASA. She was happy, but I was ready to kill him. All I could think of was that at least he was marrying her. Then I came to the wedding, and I can't tell you how relieved I was that he really appeared to love her. But I'll tell you, I still didn't think much of him. He was far too self-absorbed for my taste."

Alan listened, enthralled. This was a viewpoint he'd never even considered.

"My parents were great about it. All they ever wanted was for both Lucy and me to be happy. But I could see they were disappointed, although they kept that strictly to themselves. I know Lucy didn't know it. It was such a waste of her brains and talent. They were glad she kept up with her art and music. But I was furious. I did, and frankly, still do, think Jeff Tracy is self-absorbed."

Alan felt a flare of irritation at the criticism of his father, but he forced it down. He was here to listen to his uncle's point of view – not argue with him. He wanted information, and he was getting it. He'd sift through it later.

Davis smiled knowingly. "John had exactly the same reaction. I'm glad to see that Tracy inspires such loyalty in his sons. That tells me that there's probably more to him than meets the eye." He shrugged. "But I'm set in my ways. That's why I live up here," he explained, giving a general wave with his hand. "But from what you tell me, he's been pretty self-absorbed about my sister's death, and I don't think you deserved that."

Even though he wanted to jump to his father's defense, Alan was torn, because there was real truth to that. He gave a shrug of acknowledgement.

"Another reason why I live alone up here," David laughed. "I have all the tact of a piece of concrete. Sorry. I know he's your father. But anyway, I was glad to see Lucy was happy. She kept in touch with me, always regaling me with tales of the marvelous Jefferson Tracy, when it seemed to me that all he ever did was get her pregnant. Five kids in nine years? I mean, really. I think Jeff was trying to create his own company staff," he finished in disgust.

Alan felt a twinge of guilt. After all, he was the reason that David's sister was gone.

But David was more intuitive than Alan gave him credit for. "Not your fault," David said simply. "Things happen. I know Lucy had the best care money could buy, but nature has a way of selecting her own that we humans will never understand. I see it up here all the time." He gave another general wave towards the woods. "We'll never understand why things happen, we're just to accept that they do. I think your father needs to learn that."

Surprisingly, that explanation made Alan feel exonerated for the first time in his life. He'd always felt such guilt over his mother's death, as though there were something he could have done. Unreasonable, yes, but emotions weren't always reasonable. That simple relief was almost overwhelming. He'd no idea how heavy that chain of guilt had been.

"But like I said, Lucy was happy. And I was glad. I didn't much like Jefferson Tracy, and I really didn't want to see him, though I didn't want Lucy to know that, or get in the way of her happiness. Then Mom and Dad were killed in a car wreck the first year Lucy was married. Did you know that?"

Alan nodded, keeping silent. He was learning tons. He didn't want to stop the flow.

"So it was just Lucy and me. I moved up here after that. There really wasn't much to keep me in England. I'm an artist. A woodworker," he explained. "I'd begun to make a name for myself, so I could live anywhere I wanted. I'd always been prone to being a loner all my life, and I loved being out in the woods. And Alaska has a never-ending supply of all types of wood, so it made the most sense. I loved the skiing and all the sports and nature that was available. I chose the right place. I love it. But I do tend to lose all track of time up here," he said with a self-deprecating laugh. "On the other hand, Lucy was different. She loved sports too, but she liked people too. And people returned that love. Everybody who met Lucy just loved her. She was that kind of person."

"Everybody's told me that," Alan exclaimed in frustration. "But what did she like? Did she like sports? What kind of movies did she like? I know she was an artist and a musician. But I didn't know she was premed."

David chuckled at Alan's obvious irritation. "Okay, specifics. Lucy loved all kinds of sports. And she was good at them. She was an avid runner. That was her way of letting of steam. She ran everyday, rain or shine, all the time she was in high school and in college. She told me she kept it up as much as possible after she married as well."

"What else . . . She loved to ski. She skied downhill like a maniac. She loved speed. The faster she could go, the better she liked it. She also liked motorcycles. On holiday, before she married, we'd go anyplace where there was room to roam. I came over to see her a lot. We'd go to Montana, Colorado, you name it. In the winter we'd ski or snowmobile and in the summer, we'd dirt bike. We always were racing, and man, she was a killer competitor. She beat me more often than not."

"Wow," Alan murmured, spellbound.

"She loved to hike as well. She was an outdoor girl. She didn't mind getting dirty. But don't get me wrong. She was feminine all the way. She loved to get dressed up. Anytime I didn't know what to get her for a gift, I could always get jewelry. She was a sucker for anything that glittered."

"She also had a hell of a temper. Much as I disliked Tracy, I knew he'd never push her where she didn't want to go. She knew her own mind, and woe to anybody who tried to manipulate her." He snickered. "I'd have loved to be a fly on the wall a few times. Jeff Tracy struck me as a man who was used to getting his own way, and I knew my sister well enough to know that she was more than a match for him when she wanted to be. I bet there were more than a couple major blow ups. Things would have been broken during those times – plates, glasses, vases. She wouldn't discriminate. Anything would have been ammunition."

He smiled at Alan. "Is this what you wanted to know?"

"Yes," Alan said, bemused. "Exactly."

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

David and Alan talked all that afternoon. Or rather, David talked, and Alan listened. He was enthralled. David laid out the childhood that he and Lucy had lived. The vacations they took, the personalities of his parents. Moments from their lives.

Alan felt as though he were being filled like a water glass. A part of him was becoming whole, a part he hadn't even realized was empty. He was like a sponge, absorbing information.

They finally headed inside the house to make dinner. Alan stopped dead in his tracks at his first view of the great room. The furniture was similar in style to his own. The lines were elegant in their simplicity and the wood was glowing with inner warmth. The mission and craftsman influences were evident in every line. This was not what Alan expected to see in an Alaskan backcountry home.

Then he spotted the coffee table and end tables. He was moving towards them without even knowing it. They were clearly from the same hand as the coffee table his father had given him. The workmanship was unmistakable.

Alan's world was spinning again. He just wondered if it would ever stop. "Where . . . Who . . .?" He stuttered. Finally he tried again. "Where did you get these?"

David's face was a study in puzzled amusement at his nephew's actions. He snorted. "I made them of course. I made all of my furniture. I told you, I'm a woodworker."

Alan shook his head slightly to clear it. "No. I have one of these tables. My father gave it to me as a gift. He got it in a gallery at home. The craftsman is a guy named Davis." He stopped short suddenly.

David shouted with laughter. "You have one of my tables! I market my work under the name Evan Davis to the galleries. Like I said, I like my privacy." He shook his head in amusement. "I don't believe it! What are the chances of that?"

Alan began to grin slowly. "No way." He looked around the room again. The workmanship was clear. No piece was alike, but it was evident that the same person had done the work. "I don't believe it!" He exclaimed, unconsciously echoing David.

"Me either. Well, all I can say is that you have taste. Very, very good taste. And your Dad may actually have a spark of decency in him if he picked out my work to give to you as a gift!"

"Do you think he knows?" Alan ventured, again deliberately choosing to ignore the negative sentiment towards his father.

"No way. He knew I was an artist, but he was never interested in what I did. And like I said, I market under a pseudonym. Besides, Tracy was more interested in my sister than in me. And we didn't keep in touch after her death."

David laughed again, and slapped Alan on the shoulder, and indicated towards the kitchen, still shaking his head in amusement.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

Alan spent four days with David Evans. In that time, they hiked, rode dirt bikes, and generally explored the countryside. They also talked. Alan listened with intensity. He finally felt he understood who his mother was. Why she was so beloved. He learned her talents and her flaws.

At one point, while they were taking a breather after riding dirt bikes, David had commented to Alan that he was an awful lot like his mother in the risk-taking department. That's where he must have gotten it. Alan was inordinately pleased. It was nice to know there was some Evans in him besides just taste in furniture.

When Alan finally headed for home, he left with a sincere invitation to come back anytime he needed a breather or a break from his overbearing father. Alan took that as a compliment of the highest order. David wasn't all that interested in strangers - congenial as he was – family or no. He told David he'd definitely be back and appreciated the invitation, and that he wouldn't mention his existence to Scott, Virgil or Gordon either.

David had laughed, clapped his shoulder, commented that he'd known Alan was a good one. He also said that he knew Scott and Virgil were aware of the existence of their 'Uncle David', Lucy had made sure of that. But again, neither had followed up on that knowledge, nor had David. Shrugging, David had just commented that he'd never been very good with children, so he just learned about them from his sister. After she'd died, well, there had been no link. David told him that if his brothers wanted to find him, they could work for it, just as Alan and John had. And to say hello to Jeff and John for him.

Alan felt like he'd found a friend in a family member he didn't even know he'd had, as well as a link to his mother. He was beginning to feel whole again.

**ANSWER IN MAJOR**

Part of the life of auto racing was being on the road traveling from race to race. Alan was used to it by now. But it still grated him to travel by car instead of by plane. Unfortunately, with the amount of equipment they carried, traveling by road made the most sense by a long shot. Alan sometimes did fly and meet the caravan at the tracks, but mostly he traveled with them. They were a team, and in more than name only.

So, as was the norm, the racing team was traveling by convoy. A couple of large pickup trucks and SUV's pulling the large trailers with the racecars and equipment. They'd been on the road for three weeks so far on this swing, and were on their way to a race in Northern California. It was the middle of the night, and Alan was asleep in the back of the ¾ ton pickup as they headed north out of Los Angeles on I-5.

Kenny and Pat had made Alan give up the wheel to Kenny as they left LA. Kenny knew Alan all to well. The route they would take out of LA would go through the hills, then drop to the Great Central Valley. The section of the I-5 corridor where it ran through the Valley was sparsely populated and monotonous. The population centers tended to be on the right side of the valley off of State Highway 99, so those traveling I-5 on the left side of the valley tended to 'fly the five'. Kenny commented that 'flying the five' was fine, but he really didn't want to travel at the supersonic speeds that only Alan could coax out of the truck. It was a long stretch, and Kenny didn't want to see it used as a runway. Thus, Pat and Kenny forced a grumbling Alan to crawl in the back as they stopped for gas just before they headed into the hills out of LA.

"You guys just like to enjoy the scenery," Alan groused as he slammed the back door. "Sunday drivers."

"What scenery? It's o-dark-hundred in the middle of the night," Pat pointed out logically, as he settled into the front passenger seat.

"Go to sleep Alan. At least we'll live to see the end of the valley if I'm driving," Kenny laughed.

Alan could be heard muttering something rude in the back. Kenny grinned as he started the truck and moved off, the remainder of the convoy following.

The shock of the sudden stop and the noise from the crash woke Alan abruptly. It took him a moment to realize that all was not what it should be. The crumpled hood of the truck blocked the view from the spider web-cracked windshield. A second hard jolt whip lashed the youngest Tracy and made him feel as though his head were coming off. Then the noise intruded. The sounds of crashing, screaming and tortured metal were eerie coming from the dark, misty world around them. It was a scene that was right out of Dante's Inferno.

Visibility was zero, with the darkness exacerbated by the heavy fog. Flashes of defused light came out of the dark as flames and explosions occurred. Sounds almost seemed muffled.

"Everybody okay?" Kenny asked breathlessly.

"Think so," Pat answered in an unsteady voice.

"Alan?" Kenny's voice again, more strongly this time.

"Yeah," Alan answered, still trying to grasp the situation. "What happened?"

"Tule fog. It came on real sudden and we hit somebody. And it sounds like we aren't the only ones," he answered grimly, grabbing for his radio. "Pat, call 911."

"On it," Pat answered quickly, reaching for the cell phone.

Nobody said the obvious. They were out in the middle of nowhere. It was going to take awhile for help to arrive.

Kenny was on the radio, calling in to the others in their caravan. One by one shaky replies came through, confirming all clear.

Alan opened the door and let himself out of the truck's backseat, looking around.

"Careful, Alan. This looks bad." Kenny spared a moment from the radio for his driver.

"Will do," he answered, getting his bearings.

Bad was an understatement. The heavy fog blanketed the highway, and reduced visibility to almost nothing. Tule fogs were notorious in this part of California. I-5 ran through the valley, essentially trapping the fog. The fogs were dense and had been known to last for days.

The racing team's big extended cab pickup truck and trailer were accordioned between another large SUV in front and a sedan behind. It was the size of their heavy-duty rig that had kept them unharmed.

The sounds of crashes were farther away now, back behind them. It sounded as though the carnage were continuing. But screaming was more pronounced, and close. Alan realized that the glow of light enabling him to see came from a car a few lengths in front of them. The car was burning, and the nearest screaming was coming from it. Instinct and training far different from racing cars took over, and Alan's brain was processing triage as he began running for the inferno.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

The call came into International Rescue about a huge early morning pile up in Southern California. One of the sudden Tule fogs had come up, and the wreckage was strewn for over a mile on both north and south bound I-5. The area was remote and the authorities needed any help they could get. The death toll was rising, and the dark and continuing fog were hampering any effort of air support to get more crews into the remote area.

Scott was aloft almost immediately in Thunderbird One, and Virgil wasn't far behind him with Two.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

"I'm glad you're here," the commander of the ground police said wearily. "This is one of the worst pile ups we've ever seen. The wreckage covers over two miles and the fires are still out of control in the northeast quadrant. We have crews in all of the sections, but our biggest issue is knowing what's happening with a wreckage site this large and no aerial coverage. Tule fogs take visibility to zero."

"Okay," Scott answered. "Mobile control is set up, and Thunderbird Two is on the way. We've got specialized viewing equipment on Two that's specially designed to see through fog and other low visibility situations. We'll have her fly over so we can get a good estimate of what we're dealing with. We also have equipment that should dissipate the fog."

Scott was once again grateful to the engineering genius behind the Thunderbirds. A year or so back, Brains had come up with small devices, which, if placed at specific intervals around the area, would dissipate the fog. They had been a real boon in the large scale accidents created by Tule fogs. These events were terrible, not only because the accident scene was so large, but also because rescue efforts were made impossible, thus increasing the loss of life.

There had been a major discussion regarding these apparatus' in the Tracy lounge after Brains had unveiled them. Discussion was probably a polite term. Huge argument was more like it, Scott reflected, on whether to make them public property. The savings in lost lives would be tremendous if they could prevent the fogs by keeping the small machines on in fog prone areas. But Brains had vetoed the idea, stating that any artificial changes to the natural environment was asking for trouble. He didn't want them used when they weren't absolutely necessary, because he didn't know the long-term effects. It still amazed Scott that Brains could take on the whole Tracy family and win when he wanted to. He was more Tracy than not.

Scott's attention was wrenched back to the problem at hand as the commander replied.

"Good. Our crew chiefs will be glad to have that information. And to have that fog go away would be a real godsend." He shook his head in emphasis. "They are killers."

"F. A. B.," Scott confirmed. "We'll place the devices as we do the aerial recon, then see what we can do to help."

"Here are the people to check in with at each sector." He rattled off the names, clearly relieved by IR's presence and their seemingly miraculous plans to help redirect nature. "Check in with each of them, they'll let you know what help they need."

Scott and Virgil went to work. When Virgil finished the fly over, with Scott along, placing Brains' devices, they began contacting the crew chiefs directly by radio to relay the gathered information. After that, as per the commanders' request, they headed to each sector, helping with the worst of the situations. Virgil began giving the Firefly a good workout, putting out the fires and effecting quicker rescues.

The third sector they reached looked in better shape than the first two. Scott commented on that to the crew chief.

The crew chief gave an ironic laugh. "You wouldn't believe it. When we got here, a civilian already had this area handled. He'd organized the survivors into a pretty efficient rescue team, and had set up triage with anybody who had medial training. It was amazing. Check in with him, but I think he's got it covered. I've got a couple of people there now overseeing, but he'd done all the work." He shrugged. "Go figure. Sometimes miracles occur when you need them. And since he's famous, people tended to gravitate to him anyway, and he just used it to his best advantage. So, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Anyway, I think you can head over to the next sector. Thanks to that civilian, I think we're okay."

"Huh," Scott commented, glad to see that there was competent help. "I think we'll thank him first. Always like to encourage people who take responsibility. Who should we ask for?"

"Alan Tracy." The chief laughed at Scott's stunned expression, although completely misunderstanding the reason. "Yeah, that's right. Tracy. The race car driver. Who would have figured that a rich kid, and one that young to boot, would be this good in a crisis?"

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

"Hey!" the fireman Alan was talking to perked up as he looked over the blond Tracy son's shoulder. "International Rescue's here."

Alan schooled his expression as he turned to look over in the direction the fireman was looking. They been comparing the list of names that Alan had compiled with the names the fire personnel and police had gotten as they canvassed the area.

Scott was walking towards them, Virgil by his side. They were a sight to behold, materializing out of the dim, murky fog like the heroes in stories of old. The scene was surreal anyway, with the poor visibility broken by the flashing lights from the emergency vehicles and the orange of flames still burning. People were darting in and out of the darkness, and the noise was overwhelming, a seeming contradiction in the poor visibility.

The two men from International Rescue were a sight in their blue uniforms and crisp sashes. They looked larger than life as they emerged from the gloomy darkness into the pool of the floodlight. There were expressions of relief from the first aid workers, the fire and police personnel, and the injured. People seemed to gain new strength as they returned to their tasks. They had help. International Rescue was here. They would be okay now.

For the very first time, Alan realized that this was part of International Rescue's power. They not only brought help, they brought hope. IR didn't need large numbers to do their job. They inspired those around them in the accident scenes, and that became the organizations' additional numbers.

Alan felt a stab of pride in his family, amazement as he comprehended for the first time the true extent of his father's vision, and full of admiration for the two brothers striding towards him. He knew he could count on them to not be caught off guard at the sight of him, and that they would treat him just like any other civilian at the scene. He knew he could count on them, period.

Scott was shaking the hand of the crew chief next to Alan. As the man's attention was on Scott, Virgil shot a discreet glance at Alan. Alan correctly read the worried question about his condition and the deep concern in his brother's expressive eyes. He answered with a quick nod – he was okay. Virgil's heartfelt relief was again clearly reflected in his gaze, warming Alan with its depth of feeling. Then the crew chief was introducing him.

"Alan Tracy. He and his racing team were caught in the crash. Tracy's done most of the triage and organizing. He's the reason that things are looking so good in this sector."

Scott reached out to shake his hand. "Glad to meet you. Good job. Your team alright? Anything we should know?" Behind the professional words and tone, Alan heard the clear worry and concern directed towards himself and his friends.

Alan felt again that feeling of being loved and watched over by his eldest brother, as he had all of his life. He returned Scott's quick unseen squeeze of his hand discreetly, but emphatically. Like Scott's words, however, his own were returned in kind, professional and businesslike.

"Likewise. My team is fine. We were lucky. We're okay here. This is what we've got . . ." He began to elaborate on the situation.

"I'll go ahead to the next sector," Virgil commented, "Things look good here."

Alan correctly interpreted the unspoken 'good job', and nodded acknowledgement, internally basking in the praise. He knew he'd done well.

"I'll be with you in a moment," Scott said to Virgil.

"F. A. B.," Virgil responded, gave a nod to those remaining, and left Alan, Scott and the rest of the fire and police team to finish what Alan had begun.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

Alan straightened up tiredly, and looked down from the rise he was standing on. This was the central location for all of the sectors. Once his sector had been handled, he moved to central to help out.

He'd just finished double checking the lists of those involved against those found and the dead. All were accounted for in one way or another. He felt the sadness he always felt when International Rescue dealt with the dead, but also the satisfaction of those they'd saved today. The combined efforts of IR and their unique equipment, the police, highway patrol, fire crews, and the civilians (of which he was one – sort of) had saved many who would otherwise have died.

He was dirty, he was sore, and he was exhausted. And he felt better than he'd felt in months. The feeling of being alive, and of being useful was something he'd missed, and he hadn't even realized it. Alan recognized for the first time that he was very, very good at this. Not in the way Scott or Virgil or John or Gordon were good. But in his own way. He could command, and he could lead by example. He was Scott in his own unique way. But he was also comfortable following orders. He was himself. For a moment, he could clearly hear TinTin laughing at him, and her taunting, "About time Alan!" He grinned a little to himself.

The accident scene was brutal in it's clarity after the burning off of the killer fog. Sometimes Tule fogs lasted for days. This one stayed only hours thanks to Brains' invention. The bulk of the two Thunderbirds rose high in the background on the other side of wreckage that was strewn across the highway, gleaming brightly with the light of the rising sun behind them. The colors somehow seemed brighter for the filtering haze of the still smoldering fires, making the Thunderbirds that much more surreal.

"Always amazing," said the quiet, discreet voice of Virgil from behind him, keeping up the necessary charade.

Alan nodded without looking around. He knew his brother looked as tired as he himself felt. The blue uniform and colored sash would be as dirty and sooty as Alan knew himself to be.

"So, when are you moving back home?" Scott's soft voice from behind him asked casually into the momentary oasis of privacy and calm surrounding them.

"As soon as I can make arrangements," Alan answered, still looking out at the destroyed highway.

"'Bout time," Virgil stated matter-of-factly.

**CADENZA**

Alan looked over the glass racecar carefully as he removed the bubble wrap and tissue paper protecting it. Satisfied, he ran a hand over it, feeling the cool smoothness of the glass, then carefully set it up on the glass shelf in his sitting room.

"Almost finished?"

Alan turned at his father's voice and smiled.

"Almost. You timed that about right."

Jeff laughed. "I guess I did." He looked knowingly at the glass car Alan had set on the shelf. It gleamed in the bright tropical sun, reflecting the soft colors. Wisely, he said nothing about it. Instead, "Are you sure you want these rooms? You can still have the apartment that you and . . . TinTin shared."

Alan smiled, appreciating his father's concern. The lose of TinTin and their child would always be a huge hole in his life. And because of that, he felt better back in the suite of rooms he'd occupied before his marriage. There were some things he still couldn't face. But he knew that it was okay that way. There was time.

When he'd decided to come home and rejoin IR, he'd had some stipulations. He and his father had talked at length, and to Alan's amazement, Jeff had agreed unconditionally. Not that Alan's requirements were anything particularly out of the ordinary, but they were different from the way IR had been run previously.

The major issue was that Alan wanted to keep racing. Oh, not full time. Selected races – not a full season. The sponsors of his team were fine with that. He still was going to be a winning driver, and they could have other drivers up and coming. He also kept his apartment near the home track. Alan was convinced that he'd need space, and what better way than a place that was his own. Someplace that wasn't tied to the family. Thus, when he was sick of being treated like the baby (he was under no illusions there – once the baby of the family, always the baby), he'd have a place to go. And that place was home to him, with friends and a life. He was lucky – he got to have his cake and eat it too.

Alan had a sense that TinTin was pleased with him. He'd come full circle. The relationship with his father was different now. He'd told Jeff about his visit with David Evans. Jeff was most interested. That had led to a discussion of Lucille Tracy, the most Alan had ever heard his father talk about her. The parallels between him and his father were more clearer than ever. There were evenings when he'd needed to talk about TinTin to somebody who would understand the sense of loss he felt, and his father filled the bill. Both Jeff and Alan had changed, and their relationship was all the better for it.

"No, it's better this way," Alan replied quietly.

Jeff laid a hand on his son's shoulder. That was all the answer that was needed. Jeff understood, and Alan knew that.

"Alan! Quick! Come on!" Gordon's voice was coming closer. "Virgil's gone and I want to make him pay for those cracks he made about Four last night. I want to 'fix' Thunderbird Two for him, just the way he wanted to fix my perfect submarine last night. You know that . . ." Gordon stopped dead as he saw who was in Alan's room with him. Blanching, he backpedaled furiously. " . . . door that Virgil dented and he's desperate to get fixed? Well, you could do it. Meet me down in the hanger." And he was gone.

Jeff grinned. "The more things change . . ."

"The more they stay the same," Alan finished, laughing.

"Just leave off with the red and orange paint this time, okay?" Jeff said, heading for the doorway. He enjoyed the horrified look of frozen shock on Alan's face. Hiding a smile, he left the room, his omniscience once again firmly established.

_**finis**_


End file.
